Underneath Your Clothes
by CatS81
Summary: When Boyd is given a new assignment from high up in the chain of command, he will be forced to finally confront the nature of his feelings for Grace...
1. Chapter 1

Underneath Your Clothes

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit :)

**Pairing**: Boyd/Grace

**Rating**: T for now, for language.

**Spoilers**: Nothing specific but up to and including Series 7.

Dr. Eve Lockhart took a deep drag on her cigarette, drawing a hefty lungful of blissful intoxication into body before blowing it out with satisfaction, watching the silvery smoke as it curled upwards towards the ceiling of her lab. She glanced at the clock on the wall through narrowed hazel eyes, sighing in resignation as she realised she was on her fourth cigarette of the day and the hour hand had yet to reach ten. _Who am I kidding that I'm trying to quit? _She mused ruefully, reaching out a finger to silence the restful voice emanating from her CD player, which was assuring her serenely that her body was a temple_. Body is a temple, my arse..._

The phone ringing roused her from her rebellious thoughts then and she paced across the tiled floor of the lab to pick up the receiver.

"Eve, it's me." The familiar French accent on the other end of the line was instantly recognisable as that of Detective Constable Stella Goodman.

"Please, _please_ tell me Boyd's revealed the details of a long and complicated case that'll take us months to solve." Eve's husky voice addressed her friend as she took another guilt-free puff on her cigarette. "I think I'm starting to lose my mind alphebetising my test solutions."

Stella laughed. "Well, he just called Grace into his office..."

The forensic scientist groaned with disappointment. "Stella, that means nothing. He does that all the time."

"They look like they're having an argument."

"Again, what else is new?"

"I think he's explaining something to her. Maybe it's a new case." The young woman's voice sounded hopeful. "Come up and see for yourself."

Eve shook her head. "No point. If they were fighting about a new case or, indeed, about any case, I'd be able to hear Boyd from here."

"Come _on, _Eve." The Frenchwoman wheedled, almost girlishly. "Spence'll be back from Starbucks any minute if that's an incentive."

"Not if he's bringing that low fat crap you made him buy last time."

"No, I swear, I've told him to go all out – full fat milk, whipped cream, the lot."

Eve grinned broadly. "Excellent; hundreds of calories and voyeurism, what more could I possibly want to pass the time with?"

"Exactly. See you in two."

They hung up then and Eve savoured the final draw on her cigarette before stubbing it out, indigo fingernails flashing through her hair as she secured the dark tresses at the nape of her neck, her amethyst pendant swinging slightly as she bounced enthusiastically from the lab.

* * *

"She wants us to do _what_?"

Dr. Grace Foley sat back in her chair, folding her slender arms over the peacock blue of her cashmere jumper, her expression incredulous as she addressed the man sitting opposite her across the desk. Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd sighed deeply and ran a hand across his rugged features.

"She assured me it'll be a piece of piss, Grace..."

Grace raised her eyebrows. "I'm not a Police Officer, Boyd. Or have you and she conveniently forgotten that fact?"

"Look, if it was up to me, we wouldn't be going any where near this, all right?"

"So, you did challenge her on it, then?"

Boyd blew out a hot breath, his voice rising sharply in volume as he replied. "Well, of course I bloody well did! What do you take me for?!"

"I don't know, Boyd. It just strikes me as the kind of thing you might get a kick out of, that's all."

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"It's outrageous to expect me to do this, it's bloody..."

"You think I don't know that? You really think I wanted us put in this position?"

She shrugged, looking at him evenly, ignoring his attempt to vocally overpower her . "So, what do we do, then? Roll over and take it?"

He sighed heavily, his irritation deflated instantly by the soft, yet firm, tone of her voice. "I don't think we can do anything else. My hands are tied, Grace."

"And if we refuse?"

"You know the power she's always had over this Unit. It could be final nail in the coffin time."

Grace closed her sapphire eyes briefly and sighed, letting the silence between them elongate to allow her intelligent mind a few moments to absorb the gravity of his words. "Okay." She said finally, a small smile flickering across her features as she registered his surprised expression.

"Is that it, then? That the extent of your resistance or are you just setting me up for a good few hours of arguments?" His dark eyes were warm as he looked at her, humour lacing his voice.

"Well, it doesn't look like we've got much of a choice, does it?"

He shook his head, his expression sobering. "She made that pretty clear. If I want to keep this Unit running, I do as she says."

Grace blew out a frustrated breath. "And sod the consequences for yours or my safety."

"Something like that."

She smiled bitterly. "Nice to be so highly regarded, isn't it."

"That's par for the course in my world, Grace. I thought you'd be used to that by now."

She gave a hollow laugh, feeling the strain of their conversation ease fractionally, and she rose from her seat, following his lead as he moved towards his office door and out into the main meeting room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N**: As far as I know, the St. Ives' Lodge is not a real hotel – I just made it up for the purpose of the story! Also, just a small point for anyone who doesn't know, ACC stands for Assistant Chief Constable, a very high rank in the Police force in Britain.

Stella looked up from the pretence of reading her newspaper as Boyd came striding out of his office, closely followed by Grace. She had been watching them surreptitiously for the past five minutes through the glass partitions of Boyd's office, had witnessed her boss' gesticulations and the psychologist's placating responses but she still had no idea as to the exact reason for their private meeting. Stella raised her eyebrows questioningly at Eve as Grace took a seat quietly next to her and Boyd paced to the front of the room but the scientist merely shrugged, her eyes flickering between the subjects of their joint curiosity.

"What's up?" She asked slowly, tucking an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Where's Spence?" Boyd replied obliquely, turning his back slightly to retrieve a marker pen from its holder.

"He went out to get coffee." Stella answered, exchanging a glance with Eve as she registered the edge to her boss' voice. "Why? Have we got a case?"

Boyd grimaced and held up his palms. "Don't get too excited, Stella, it's not quite as straightforward as that."

The Frenchwoman frowned quizzically. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Let's just wait for Spence, all right?"

As if on cue, Detective Inspector Spencer Jordan pushed the door to the main meeting room open with his back, his arms laden with cardboard coffee cups and a bag of pastries, which he summarily distributed amongst the women and his boss, earning him grateful smiles and a hearty shoulder clap respectively, before assuming his position across the table from Grace. He frowned as he noted Boyd's dominant position at the front of the room, something which had been conspicuously lacking of late, owing to the Cold Case squad's distinct paucity of cases.

"What's going on?" He asked, dark eyes surveying the room and its occupants.

Boyd took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat. "Okay...This morning I was called into a briefing with our erstwhile new ACC, Ms. Dyson..."

Spence blew out his breath noisily. "The Ice Queen? What did she want?"

"She's…got a task for us."

"A case?" Eve asked hopefully, breaking her croissant in half and taking a large bite.

"Not exactly." Boyd ran a hand through his silver hair, distractedly. "It's more of a non-negotiable request but it...relates to a cold case which is why she called on me specifically."

"What's the cold case, Sir?" Stella asked as she reached for a pen and paper.

"Twenty years ago, a series of rapes were tied to various upmarket central London hotels. The victims were all middle-aged businesswomen, high powered, wealthy...They recovered DNA from several of the victims but they were never able to match it to anyone."

Grace was looking at him pointedly. "As I recall, the Police were given a really hard time when they failed to make any arrests."

Boyd deliberately ignored her and began pacing, gesturing with his hands as he did so. "Around the same time, other business people were getting conned out of large amounts of money in the same hotels. The Police theorised it was a gang and they tried to make the links to the rapes...."

"Tried and failed, I assume?" Eve asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. Anyway, a few months down the line, suddenly everything stopped. The case went cold and it was archived because although some intelligence had been gathered, nobody was ever arrested for either the rapes or the fraud."

"So, where do we come in, then?" Spence queried.

"God, it's started again, hasn't it?" Stella exclaimed before Boyd could respond, realisation flickering across her delicate features. "There was something in the paper last week about a businesswomen getting raped in the...I think it was the St. Ives' Lodge, you know, that big four-star hotel in Mayfair..."

Eve nodded. "I read that too. Does that mean the case is being re-opened, Boyd?"

Boyd paused fractionally before speaking. "One of the Major Incident Teams is handling it."

Grace folded her arms across her chest and looked at him through narrowed eyes at the tone of his answer, noting that he was studiously avoiding her gaze. "Boyd," She said, her voice laced with warning, "stop stalling. Either you tell them in the next thirty seconds or I do."

"Tell us what?" Spence asked, his eyes moving between his boss and the profiler, his suspicions heightened at the obvious undercurrents between them.

Boyd sighed heavily and resuming his pacing, aware that he was hurtling uncomfortably towards the inevitable. "Well, ACC Dyson, in her infinite wisdom, has decided that an undercover operation is the key to solving the case..."

Stella sat up straighter in her chair, her hazel eyes shining with excitement. "Really? We're going undercover?"

Eve grinned. "Ooh, I call dibs on the blond wig and ridiculously over-sized sunglasses."

Spence and Stella laughed loudly but Grace frowned, her expression pained as she squeezed her eyes closed. "Boyd..." She started wearily, earning her a concerned glance from Eve.

Boyd took a breath and held up a hand to silence the chattering of the two youngest members of the group. "Spence, Stella and Eve, you three have been instructed to conduct an investigation into this latest rape; try and find any evidence you can linking it to the incidents twenty years ago..."

"And the two of you...?" Eve's husky voice was full of inquiry.

"Grace and I...have been instructed to go undercover at the St. Ives' Lodge. We're to try and expose this individual or gang and get a confession."

"Bloody hell." The scientist blew out a shocked breath at his words, her exclamation the only sound in the room as Spence and Stella were stunned into silence.

Boyd turned around slightly to write on the transparent board. "The story is we're a wealthy couple doing the rounds of the upmarket hotels....I think Dyson hopes the gang will seek us out and make contact..."

Spencer's expression was grave. "So, what she's really saying is Grace will be used as a honey trap."

Boyd turned back to face them. "I don't like this any more than you do, Spence."

"So why didn't you tell Dyson to shove it, then?"

"Look, whatever I might think of her, she's still the ACC; your boss, my boss…"

"But not my boss." Grace interjected dryly. "Not that that seems to make any difference."

"Can you lodge a formal refusal?" Eve asked.

"Not an option." Boyd replied firmly, his eyes on Grace who sighed softly.

"Why not?" Eve persisted.

"It just isn't, all right?" The older man's voice had risen slightly in volume with irritation. "There's nothing I can do about this, we just have to get on with it and hope we get a fast result."

"Otherwise, what?"

"Look, I don't want to get into it." Boyd growled, beginning to stride back towards his office, determined not to reveal the extent of Dyson's threat for the Unit to the junior officers. "Just get on with it so Grace and I have some useful background to take with us tonight..."

"Tonight?" Spence blew out a breath as he watched the retreating form of his boss. "Jesus, Dyson's cracking the whip already, then."

Grace gave a rueful shrug, rising from her chair with the intention of following in Boyd's wake. "No time like the present or something like that."

Spence's expression was serious as his onyx eyes followed her movements. "I'm not happy about this, Grace."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze as she passed him. "I know, Spence. Neither am I."

Stella spoke up quietly. "I don't understand why a trained undercover team can't handle it. They train for years for this sort of thing."

"I can hazard a guess." Eve said darkly, her eyes searching Grace's. "Something to do with the expendable nature of the Cold Case Unit and its personnel..."

Grace smiled mirthlessly. "I couldn't possibly comment."

"Grace..."

"Boyd should've put his foot down." Spence said. "He shouldn't be letting Dyson bully him into putting you in this position..."

"I very much doubt she's capable of bullying him. I just don't think he was given any alternatives, that's all..."

"Still." The younger man said gruffly. "He could've fought harder, by the sounds of things. He usually does."

"Give him a break, Spence." Grace spread her hands and injected as much levity as she could muster into her voice. "Look, I'm trying to see the bright side, okay? At least I get a few nights in a posh hotel."

Stella tried to stifle a laugh. "Yeah, but with _Boyd_ though."

Eve raised an eyebrow, her acutely sensitive vision detecting the slight blush that had crept into Grace's cheeks at the younger woman's words. "Oh, I don't know, Stella...I can think of worse people to be holed up with undercover." She said mischievously, a grin spreading across her face as she watched the deepening hue of the profiler's skin.

"Eve!" Stella exclaimed, reaching over to slap her friend playfully on the arm. "I can't believe you just said that, he's old enough to be your father!"

Eve laughed loudly. "And your point is?"

"Oh, God." Spence groaned. "I really don't need that mental image, Eve…"

Grace took the opportunity of the resulting joviality to escape, willing away the hot embarrassment that seemed to be pervading every pore of her body before reaching Boyd's office. She leant against the doorframe and waited until he looked up over his glasses to acknowledge her before speaking.

"At the risk of sounding like a stereotype of my gender…" She started, smiling slightly at his reactionary moan and eye roll.

"Do I want to know, Grace?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Dyson's approved a clothing budget for all this."

Boyd sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. "You're not serious."

"I am, actually. If she wants me to look wealthy, I'm going to need to do some shopping this afternoon and I'm buggered if I'm shelling out for it."

"Grace, come on. You're an intelligent woman, what do you think the answer to that is?"

She grimaced at his words, although she had pre-empted them in her mind. "I think I should know by now how tight the Met purse strings are after working with you lot for so long."

"Got it in one."

"So that's a 'no', then?"

He groaned loudly and threw a newspaper across the room at her. "Go on, get out of here, for Christ's sake. I'll pick you up at seven."

Grace chuckled in response and wandered back to her own office, trying not to dwell on the warmth spreading across her chest at their banter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language

**A/N**: I'm sorry this has taken me so long to update, I've had a bit of trouble getting this chapter to flow properly – always have that problem with prose, particularly when writing from a male point of view! Anyway, please let me know what you think, all comments & criticisms warmly welcomed! x

Boyd pulled opened the solid oak doors of his wardrobe and grimaced as he surveyed its contents. Hanging from the rails was a jumbled mess of clothing, designer shirts interspersed with tailored suit jackets and trousers, along with a sparse amount of casual wear and shoes. He sighed loudly as he began pulling various garments from their hangers and depositing them on the bed behind him, Dyson's harsh words about presentable appearances ringing incessantly in his ears. His hand hesitated briefly over his tuxedo, wondering for a moment at its necessity, before tugging it roughly from the wardrobe, the heavy material landing with a soft thud atop his other hastily chosen outfits. Turning, he picked up the thick file Dyson had presented him with earlier that day, and opened it, determined to obtain at least a cursory understanding of the case and his cover story before things began in earnest in a few hours' time. He stifled a laugh at the name of his alter ego, typed in boldface at the top of the document; _Peter De Silva-Jones_…_Jesus Christ_,_ talk about pretentious..._ Sighing, he pushed the thought away and continued reading, absentmindedly approaching his chest of drawers, and blindly fumbling in their interiors, his eyes and concentration focused completely on the pages before him as he threw a selection of underwear onto his bed. Momentarily, his fingers brushed the edges of a foreign object buried beneath the multitude of black socks and he frowned as he pulled it out, his breath catching in his chest at the long-forgotten sight, the file dropping abandoned from his hand as he fell back against the bed. _Bloody hell, I thought I'd got rid of this years ago..._

Silently, he tipped the contents of the battered envelope onto his palm, the smooth gold of his wedding ring cool against his skin, before picking it up between his thumb and forefinger to read the cursive inscription along the inner edge; _Forever – 5__th__ July 1981_. He gave a bitter laugh at the youthfully naive irony, an odd constriction tightening across his chest, his thoughts flickering to Mary and then, inevitably, to Luke. The marriage had lasted merely twelve years, the majority of them painfully unhappy for both of them, he knew. He had indulged in multiple affairs while she had suffered serious depression, and Luke had been caught in the middle, the unfortunate victim of the dysfunctional relationship between his parents. He sighed deeply, desperate to force the guilt into the pit of his stomach, to banish the ghosts of his past back to the recesses of his mind and he reached behind him to retrieve the previously discarded file, his forehead creasing in concentration as he opened it anew. _ Okay...Peter De Silva-Jones, City stockbroker and property tycoon, suitably flash homes in New York, Paris and Tokyo...happily married to Grace De Silva-Jones __née__ Richmond since 1985..._ He raised an eyebrow at that, his thoughts returning inextricably to those of several moments previously, his fingers running once more across the surface of his wedding ring as his eyes continued scanning the page. _Bloody hell, _he thought, shaking his head slowly,_ I can't believe I let Dyson force me into this...and with Grace, of all people..._He closed his dark eyes briefly, unsure quite how he felt about the concept of pretending to be married to the one woman who, for better or worse since meeting her ten years previously, had always managed to get beneath his skin. _This could be a complete and utter disaster_, he thought grimly, even as he slipped the ring onto the third finger of his left hand, flexing the digits at the unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable sensation. _Oh God, I was a fucking awful husband, bloody fucking awful... _

The high-pitched ringing of his mobile phone startled him from his ominous musings then and he reached into his pocket, a small smile playing on his lips as he read the caller ID.

"Yes, Grace?" He said, grimacing as he twisted the ring about his finger, trying to force his body to accept the feel of the foreign object against his skin.

"Quick question for you." She replied without preamble, distraction evident in her tone as if she were desperately trying to multi-task while speaking to him. He could imagine her phone balanced delicately between her ear and shoulder.

"Fire away, then…" He said, returning to his chest of drawers and the task he had been occupied with before becoming sidetracked by his unexpected discovery.

"Well, I was wondering…am I married to you or are we living in sin?"

Boyd choked back a laugh at her question. "Jesus Christ, Grace…"

"I just need to know whether to keep my wedding ring on or leave it at home, that's all."

He raised his eyebrows, the coincidence in timing of her inquiry startling him slightly, his thumb unconsciously fiddling with his own wedding ring once more. "Keep it on."

"Is that the official party line, then?"

"Come on, Grace. Can you really see our painfully conservative ACC…"

"Small 'c' or big 'c'?"

He grinned into the handset at her playful astuteness. "Take your pick. Can you really see her letting us assume the roles of anything other than a respectable old…"

"Less of the 'old', thank you very much."

"All right. Respectable couple approaching late middle-age."

"So 'respectable' equals married, does it?"

He could hear the humour in her voice. "In her eyes, Grace. Even human relationships have to fit into neat little controllable boxes."

"Hmm."

Boyd groaned loudly. "Oh, stop it."

"Stop what?"

Her feigned innocence was not at all lost on him. "The psycho-bloody-analysis. I can hear you doing it down the phone."

Grace stifled a laugh. "You've got good hearing, then."

"Seriously. It's not like psychoanalysis of Dyson is difficult..."

"Is that so?"

He groaned again, the deep sound resonating through his chest. "God, am I about to get a lecture here?"

"I'll save it till later, I think."

"Great, that'll be something to look forward to. The evenings together are going to just fly by."

She laughed at his good-natured sarcasm, the sound tickling his ear pleasantly. "Bye, Boyd."

They hung up simultaneously then and Boyd returned his attentions to the haphazard packing of his suitcase, the remnants of a smile from his conversation with Grace flickering unconsciously across his rugged features.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N**: Again, my apologies for taking a while to update – I have it all in my head, it's just finding the time to get it written that's a problem! Just a small note on an acronym I've used as well – SIO is Police speak for 'Senior Investigating Officer'. Any reviews would be warmly appreciated x

Stella pushed open the double doors to the main meeting room with her back, her slender arms laden with multiple boxes of thick files, each balanced precariously atop its neighbours. She smiled gratefully at Spence as he moved to hold the door for her, simultaneously relieving her of some of the burden, before the two of them deposited the files unceremoniously onto her desk. Stella slumped heavily into her chair with a sigh, her gaze falling despondently upon the large pile.

"This the lot?" Spence asked gruffly as he sank into the seat next to her, a deep frown creasing his strong features.

"Yep." Her monosyllabic reply matched his in tone, weariness settling in the tension across her forehead as she pondered the task ahead of them.

"Are we placing bets on how organised it all is?"

She smiled slightly. "Are we placing bets on how many SIOs were involved?"

He groaned. "To damn many by the looks of things."

Stella gave a resolute sigh and took a sip of her coffee. "Want to take half each?"

"Nah. You can take the rapes and I'll take the fraud."

"Spence!" Her voice had risen in indignation and she slapped him lightly on the arm. "How is that even remotely fair? That's twice as many cases!"

He chuckled loudly, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. "It's not meant to be fair, Stella. I'm your boss, remember?"

"Boyd's my boss..."

"Boyd's not here."

"So you're taking over as resident tyrant?"

Spence was grinning broadly. "You know, last time I checked, DC Goodman, I _was_ the highest ranking officer in the room..."

She sighed. "In other words, shut up and get on with it?"

"Got it in one."

Stella groaned theatrically and reached reluctantly for the first file, her eyes beginning to scan over the printed typeface despite herself, her intelligent mind already starting to absorb the information. "Is Boyd expecting something from us tonight, then?" She asked after several moments had passed, looking up to see her colleague's dark head bent studiously over his own file.

Spence shrugged his broad shoulders, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck, a futile attempt at relieving the ache in his muscles. "I think the sooner, the better, don't you?"

"You really think we can help them, Spence?" Her voice was quiet, anxiety creeping into its edges, nagging irritably at her stomach.

He sighed deeply, his generous chest rising and falling slowly beneath the pale mauve of his shirt. "Put it this way. I'd rather work twenty four seven for as long as it takes than have Grace exposed to anything dangerous."

Stella's eyebrows quirked upwards. "You don't trust Boyd to look after her?"

He looked at her evenly, his face arranged in a careful neutrality. "You really want me to answer that?"

"He's not a totally heartless bastard, Spence…"

"No, but after all he's been through lately, I don't think he's exactly firing on all cylinders, do you?"

She sighed softly. "You can't really blame him. Losing a child must be unbearably traumatic."

"I appreciate that. All I'm saying is I'm not sure he's up to this assignment…and I'd hate for something to happen to Grace because of it."

"I don't think he'd expose Grace to anything he couldn't handle, Spence. I mean, he obviously…" She stopped herself short before she could complete her train of thought, biting back the words that were threatening to tumble from her lips.

"What?"

She looked at him, her cinnamon eyes wide in a studiously innocent formulation of her features, and she gave a quick shrug of her slim shoulders. "Cares about her."

Spence rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, the deep rumble reverberating around the quiet room. "Oh God, not you as well."

"Not me as well, what?"

"Bloody Mel and Frankie were always gossiping about Boyd and Grace. It used to do my head in."

Stella laughed. "I didn't mean like that! Although now you come to mention it…"

He held up a hand to stop her mid-stride. "Don't even go there, all right?"

She laughed harder, the sound bubbling out of her in a stream, her chest shaking with her mirth. "Why?"

"Because it's like thinking of your parents, for Christ's sake!" He shook his head, attempting to dispel the mental images.

"So you don't think they care about each other, then?"

Spence groaned at her relentlessness. "Can we get back on topic please?"

"We _are _on topic..."

He raised an eyebrow sceptically at her. "Hardly."

"I just don't think Boyd would put Grace at risk, whether or not I'm right..."

"Which you're not..."

"...about their deeply repressed feelings for each other."

Spence let out another disapproving moan and stood up, pushing his chair away noisily and bending to scoop up a selection of files from the desk. Stella craned her neck to grin up at him mischievously.

"Where are you going?" She asked, watching his retreating back with amusement, her smile broadening as he turned his head to acknowledge her.

"Boyd's office. I'm not staying in here if you're gonna babble on girly-fashion for the rest of the day."

Stella laughed loudly once more before returning her attention back to her files, her shoulders still quivering even as she attempted to regain control over her joviality.

* * *

Grace grasped at the door handle of the car as it cornered precariously fast, the tyres screeching loudly against the tarmac, the engine roaring dramatically, and she pressed her other hand to her lap in a desperate attempt to stop the files she had balanced on her knees from sliding into the footwell.

"Boyd!" She admonished sharply, her cobalt eyes flashing threateningly towards him in the driver's seat next to her as she struggled to reorganise the papers that had slipped unbounded from their sleeves.

He grinned boyishly at her, his foot squeezing firmly on the accelerator once more, enjoying the pull of the powerful machine as it purred effortlessly beneath his control. "Relax, Grace. I've done the advanced driver training course, remember?"

"When was that again? Twenty years ago?"

His smile broadened, his dark eyes twinkling playfully. "Makes no difference..."

She rolled her eyes. "Admit it – you're just trying to recapture the boy racer days of your youth."

"It's a Jaguar, Grace, Dyson's XKR, for God's sake. It'd just be rude not to drive the balls off it."

Grace smiled across at him in spite of herself. She had to admit to a certain thrill at being picked up by Boyd in a sports car, the sight of him arriving outside her house in close-fitting jeans and a soft ebony leather jacket causing her pulse to quicken against her will, warmth spreading through her chest at his unbridled child-like joy. The fact that he was also wearing a wedding ring had failed to escape her attention and for a brief moment she had indulged in a wanton fantasy about the reality of being married to him, her heart fuelling a dizzying array of images behind her eyes. She shook her head presently, trying to dispel the almost intoxicating memory of her imaginings, and she reopened the recovered files, forcing herself to concentrate.

"You up to speed, then?" He asked after several moments had passed, one hand moving from the steering wheel to gesture towards her before reaching down to change gear, the car surging forwards once more with a growl.

Grace raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the warm gold of his wedding ring as it caught the light and the inertia pressing her back into the cream leather seat. "Hmm. Apparently I'm a lady of leisure who does nothing but sit around all day beautifying herself."

"What's wrong with that? You're married to money, Grace..."

"So who needs brains, is that it?"

He smirked. "Think you can act the part of a vacuous layabout?"

Her expression matched his, her eyes shining. "Think you can act the part of a smarmy city slicker?"

"Oh, you know me. I can bullshit with the best of them."

She laughed briefly before sobering again momentarily, the weight of the task ahead of them constricting across her chest. "Boyd, I don't..." She started quietly, unable to prevent uncertainty from creeping into her voice, sapphire eyes searching his rugged face for reassurance.

He sighed softly, sensing her anxiety. "It'll be fine, Grace. We rub shoulders with the nouveau riche for a few days, each nice food, drink some champagne and..."

"Try not to get raped or murdered?"

He continued resolutely, his eyes focussed steadily on the road ahead, studiously ignoring her negativity. "...and with any luck, weed out the criminal gang that have been masterminding their plot for the past twenty years. Simple as that."

Grace let her head fall back against the headrest, a small groan escaping from her lips. "Dyson must really hate you, you know that, right?"

"Us, Grace. She must really hate _us_."

"Does that make it better?"

"Of course. Means I get to share the blame about a bit."

She smiled slightly, feeling the tension in her body beginning to abate at the lightness in his tone. "Well, I suppose no dysfunctional marriage would be complete without a bit of blame sharing, eh?"

"Grace, please. Labelling our marriage as 'dysfunctional' right from the get-go is hardly setting us up for a lifetime of happiness, now is it."

She chuckled softly. "I think every marriage could be described like that at some point in its life, don't you?"

He gave her a sideways glance. "Is this where we trade marriage war stories, then?"

"It's not a competition, Boyd."

"Lucky for you. I'd win hands down."

Grace took a breath to reply but stopped herself as she noted the anguish flash briefly across his face before his features were drawn back to their arrangement of deliberate detachment. She knew he had been divorced for a number of years but his reaction to their talk of marriage had startled her slightly, his carefully chosen words intensely revealing in their paucity. _God, was it really that bad?_ She mused, regarding him surreptitiously as he drove, observing the tension in his ample shoulders, the slight frown marring his forehead. Her mind whispered siren thoughts of healing him but she forced them away and returned to her reading, the remainder of the journey passing in a companionable silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N**: I am so so sorry this has taken me forever to update! It's the usual RL excuses, I'm afraid. Anyways, it's quite a short chapter but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with me on this x

"Mr and Mrs De Silva-Jones? I'm David Bell, the assistant manager, it's a pleasure to welcome you to our hotel."

A silver-haired man in an immaculately tailored suit beamed brightly as Boyd and Grace approached the reception desk in the gleaming marble entrance to the St Ives' Lodge, his round face open and warm. Boyd took a deep breath and forced his features into a reciprocating smile, slipping a casual arm about Grace's slim waist and feeling her tense momentarily before relaxing against him.

"Thank you. We're very much looking forward to our stay." He replied, reaching his free hand out to accept the proffered key-card.

"You'll of course have full access to all of our top-class facilities – our gym, swimming pool and spa plus unlimited use of our treatment rooms. There's also a formal dinner-dance planned for three days' time at which you would be most welcome to attend..."

Grace smiled widely, nudging Boyd subtly in the ribs at his low reactive groan. "That all sounds lovely, Mr Bell."

Bell gave a clipped nod. "Excellent. I'll make the reservations for you."

"Thank you..."

"And I'll have a bottle of champagne sent up to your suite presently."

Boyd visibly brightened at his words and Grace had to fight an almost irresistible urge to roll her eyes at his reaction. "Much appreciated, Mr Bell." He said.

"I hope you enjoy your stay."

Grace gave the man a warm smile before feeling Boyd squeeze her waist, encouraging her to turn and begin walking towards the lift at the rear of the lobby. Her breath caught in her chest as she became aware of his lips against her hair and she had to remind herself firmly that his pretence at affection was just that.

"I'm feeling sick already..." He murmured quietly, his deep baritone vibrating pleasantly just above her ear.

She gave a lop-sided smile as she turned her head to acknowledge his words, feeling her pulse quicken at the spark in his dark eyes. "Bite your tongue, Peter. It's only for a few days."

"I might lose my mind in that time. I can't stand arse-kissing, Grace, you _know_ that."

Grace rolled her eyes, reaching a hand out to press the call button for the lift as they reached their destination, trying to ignore the shivers rippling across her skin at his proximity. "I'm sure you can grin and bear it for free champagne."

He sighed theatrically as they stepped into the lift. "I suppose I'll have to."

She suppressed a grin at his tone, warmth radiating through her chest with the realisation that he had failed to release his hold on her body, even as the lift began to move.

* * *

Boyd let out a low whistle as he surveyed the opulent room, his eyes flickering over the plush furnishings and resplendent décor, rich swirls of cream and burgundy adorning the indulgent fabrics of the carpet and cushions. Beside him, Grace raised her eyebrows as she followed his gaze about the room and allowed her fingers to examine the cool contours of a geometric crystal vase filled with fragrant white and red roses.

"Bloody hell." She breathed softly. "How the other half live, eh?"

The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "Hmm. Do I detect just a hint of bitterness there, Grace? A regret about going into psychology when you could have chosen a career in some pretentious international business or other?"

She smiled, her blue eyes dancing. "Of course not."

"Didn't think so. Where would be the fun in millions of pounds a year, expensive foreign holidays, skivvies at your constant beck and call...?"

Grace took a breath to reply but was interrupted by a brisk knocking at the door and the appearance of a smartly dressed member of hotel staff bearing a bottle of chilled champagne, droplets of condensation trickling slowly down its emerald green neck.

"Compliments of the management, sir and madam." The young man poured the bubbling amber liquid efficiently into two delicate long-stemmed glasses before retreating from the room with a polite smile.

"So," Grace said, picking up a glass and handing one to her companion, clinking the crystal rims amiably together before taking a sip. "Where do we start then?"

"You mean before or after we drink ourselves into a stupor?"

She sighed. "Boyd."

"Oh, lighten up, Grace."

"I thought you were concerned about all this?"

"I was...I _am. _But there's no reason not to take advantage of the situation now we're in it, is there?"

"You mean rip off the hotel and the Metropolitan Police for as much as we can get?"

"You've got to stick it to the man, Grace. Any opportunity you get."

Despite herself, Grace could feel the beginnings of a smile start to tug at her lips. "Within reason."

"Fine. You can be my conscience."

"Nothing new there, then."

His features hardened into a mock glare despite the twinkling of his dark eyes before he sobered, his tone at once serious. "In answer to your original question about where we start...I've got a briefcase full of files and notes to get through, stuff that various Flying Squads and undercover operatives have put together over the years on who we might be dealing with, plus the preliminary notes Spence and Stella have made. And some bloke from the technical support unit is coming over to give us a briefing on how to use the bugs and hidden cameras I've been inundated with."

"Okay." Grace replied quietly.

"You can start by trying to decipher the Flying Squad scribble, I'll have a look what Spence has managed to dig up so far and we can cross reference."

She accepted the proffered files from his hand and took a seat on the bed, tucking her feet neatly beneath her petite frame. A thought occurred to her as she settled back into the luxurious softness of the pillows, her fingers absentmindedly caressing the silken bedclothes and she took a breath, feeling her heart rate begin to increase.

"Boyd?"

"Hmm?" He turned around from where he had taken up residence at the intricate mahogany table, peering at her over the frames of his reading glasses.

"About the...sleeping arrangements..." She gestured to the voluminous bed beneath her body, unable to stop embarrassment from prickling at her skin.

He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze hotly intense, before turning back to his file. "You take the bed, I'll sleep on the settee." He said gruffly, clearing his throat as he ended his sentence.

"You sure?"

He grinned, studiously avoiding her gaze. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here, Grace."

"And there's me thinking you're simply deferring to my superior age and weaker constitution."

"Well, that too. I don't want you spending the next however many days moaning about a stiff neck because I forced you out of the bed."

She laughed, throwing a sequinned scarlet cushion at him before settling back down to her reading, unwilling to dwell further on the constriction of her heart as wanton images played rebelliously behind her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

Grace sighed with deep satisfaction as she wrapped the velvety softness of the hotel bathrobe about her frame, encasing the pale lilac of her pyjamas with a cocoon of white. Following an evening of attempting to absorb information pertinent to the case and a thorough, yet daunting, briefing on the finer points of micro-surveillance equipment, she and Boyd had eventually managed to retire to the restaurant. A meal of rich food and a complimentary bottle of vintage merlot later and she had finally felt her tense muscles beginning to ease, her body relaxing as she allowed herself to enjoy the sensual indulgences and Boyd's easy company. Now, she was reclining on the bed whilst her companion had announced his intention to try the shower, a delicate china cup of green tea balanced in her lap and yet another file spread out in front of her, trying desperately to read despite the heavy weight of her eyelids and the hypnotic background rhythm of water cascading over tiles. A bright chirruping broke her from her fatigued musings momentarily and she realised by the third impatient chime that it was the sound of an incoming video call emanating from the lap top on the desk. Sighing, she rose from her comfortable position and padded barefoot across the carpet, clicking the appropriate button to connect the caller before taking a seat before the screen. In an instant, Spence's face appeared in front of her, his handsome features marred slightly by his obvious exhaustion, his expression at once apologetic as he took in her attire.

"Grace? Sorry, were you in bed? I hadn't realised it was so late..."

Grace stifled a yawn and gave him a small smile. "It's okay, Spence, I think we're all burning the midnight oil today. What's up?"

"Well, Stella and I have spent the evening reviewing the latest rape case and we've come across some CCTV footage and a composite sketch of the suspect which I'll email over to you, might be useful..."

"Great..."

"....although neither of them look much good, to be honest. The CCTV's pretty poor quality but we're consulting with the experts in the morning, see if we can get it enhanced any."

"Poor quality or not, it's got to be better than nothing. At least it might give us an idea about who to look for."

"Exactly. We've also come across some artists' sketches that must have come from the original investigations, people the various SIOs thought were involved at the time. I'm going to have Stella scan them in and email them across..."

Grace took a breath to reply but was interrupted by the sound of Boyd calling her name from the bathroom, his silver hair dripping onto a glistening, sleek torso as his head appeared round the door.

"Who're you talking to?" He called, adjusting the white cotton towel about his lower body as he stepped fully into view, another towel in his hand which he applied vigorously to his head.

Grace swallowed hard, fighting an almost irresistible urge to stare, to drink in the chiselled contours of his upper body, the softly rounded stomach sprinkled liberally with salt-and-pepper hair, the subtle definition of his biceps. "Spence, live via satellite." She managed finally, deliberately injecting humour into her voice in an attempt to belay the butterflies dancing enthusiastically in her stomach.

"Well, keep him on the line, Grace, I need to ask him something..."

He disappeared back into the bathroom as he spoke and Grace returned her attention to the screen and to Spence's raised eyebrows.

"Was that Boyd in a bath towel?" He asked, disdain mixed with incredulity lacing the edges of his voice.

Grace grinned, amused at his obvious discomfort. "Not something you needed to see, Spence?"

"Let's just say, not first on my list of things to see before I die, Grace."

She laughed. "He wants you to stay on the line for a minute, okay?"

"Nothing I'd like more." He smiled back at her, warmth pervading his onyx eyes. "You all right over there?"

Grace felt her heart soften in affection for her young colleague's genuine concern. "We're fine, Spence. Honestly."

He gestured to the space behind her shoulder. "He behaving himself?"

Her smile broadened. "He's doing a reasonable job of keeping his contempt for the upper classes to what he considers to be a bare minimum."

"Which is a fancy way of saying he's doing a lot of bitching and moaning?"

"But at least he's only doing it to me. And I'm pretty immune to it after all these years."

Spence chuckled and made to reply before Boyd's deep baritone interjected, barking the younger man's name as he approached the screen, running a hand through his damp hair and coming to rest at close proximity to Grace's seat. Spence gave a wide grin as he appraised his boss' appearance, which was almost identical to that of the profiler's.

"What's this, then, his and hers dressing gowns?" He asked mischievously, amusement colouring his tones in generous proportions.

Boyd glared at his subordinate, studiously ignoring Grace's unsuccessful attempt to suppress her reactive snort. "You know, that kind of comment could make you liable for a disciplinary, DI Jordan."

Spence forced his features into a serious expression, although his dark eyes were twinkling with his mirth. "Sorry, sir. You look very nice. Very manly."

Grace could no longer contain the bubble of laugher threatening to explode from her body and she rose swiftly from her chair, her shoulders shaking in hilarity. Boyd scowled darkly at her retreating back before turning his expression towards Spence.

"You're pushing your luck here, Spence, I hope you know that."

The younger man grinned. "Must be something to do with the fact you're out of striking distance."

"Well, I won't be forever so just keep that in mind the next time you feel a smart-arse comment coming on."

"I will."

"Good."

"Now, what did you want to ask me?"

Boyd held up a finger, indicating for Spence to hold his attention before leafing through the pile of papers on the desk with his free hand, retrieving the relevant sheet moments later. "I want you to run a check on someone for me, Spence. It's an Edward Mollington, his name seems to have cropped up a few times in these files and I'm wondering whether or not he's relevant....Also a John Turner or Jonathan Turner...all right?"

Spence made a hasty note before looking back up at his boss. "They of special interest to the Rape Squads, past or present?"

"Yeah, they could be. They seemed to feature quite heavily on the Vice list as well several years ago...I don't know, could be something, could be nothing."

"Okay. I'll get Stella onto it first thing."

"You mean she's not there now?"

"It's one o'clock in the morning, Boyd."

Boyd took a breath to argue before blowing it out in defeat, his mind too weary for battle. "All right, all right...You get off too now, Spence. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Sleep well, sir." He raised his head, projecting his voice in the direction behind his boss' body. "Night, Grace."

"Night, Spence." She called back, drowsiness coating the soft timbre of her voice.

Spence's face disappeared abruptly as Boyd pressed the button to terminate the call and Grace stifled a yawn as he turned to face her.

"You get all that?" He asked.

"Yep...you want Spence to run a background check on a couple of...."

"Their names come up repeatedly in the files, Grace, look, it might be important..." He padded towards her, loose leaf paper held firmly between his fingers.

Grace held up a palm wearily to stop him mid-stride. "Can we talk about this in the morning, Boyd?"

He gave her a lop-sided grin. "It _is_ morning. Come on, Grace, where's your stamina?"

Grace rolled her sapphire eyes. "It faded into oblivion about two hours ago along with my will to live."

"That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?"

"I'm old, Boyd. Give me a break."

"Age is just a number, Grace..."

"Hmm. I'll remind you of this conversation the next time you're complaining about a bad back or a dodgy knee."

"I'm sure you will." He smiled, the soft wrinkles deepening warmly about the corners of his dark eyes. "Well, I'm going to stay up a bit longer, see if I can make any more sense out of this stuff."

She returned his expression in equal measure, a pleasant glow settling in her chest at their playful interaction. "In that case, I think I'll go to bed and leave you and your masochism in peace."

"Very wise. Good night, Grace."

"Night, Boyd."

Boyd returned to the desk then and picked up his reading glasses, his attention at once captured by the siren call of his work as he began to pore over the files anew, pausing only to adjust the brilliant luminance of the lamp at his elbow to a calming, diffuse aurora. Grace watched him settle momentarily, grateful for his somewhat uncharacteristic consideration, before standing up from the bed to shrug the dressing gown from her body and slipping blissfully between the silky sheets of the bed, her fatigued skin and muscles luxuriating in the soft envelope of the fabric, her eyes drifting close into the sweet lull of sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well, today I've been chilling in my garden and this is the result! Sorry if it doesn't flow very well, I'm gonna blame it on excessive sun exposure ;)

Stella swore loudly in frustration, letting the heated French tumble unchecked from her mouth and pushing herself back from the desk forcefully, her palms stinging from the exertion. She had arrived at the office early, a little after seven, and, upon finding a hastily scribbled note from her DI, had spent the two hours hence attempting to find any information she could on the suspects Boyd had highlighted as important. Now, irritated by her distinct lack of progress, she ran a hand across her elfin face and sighed heavily, reaching for her long-forgotten cup of coffee and grimacing at the unpalatable, cold contents.

"Problem?" Spencer inquired from across the room, his eyebrow raised quizzically at her somewhat stereotypically Gallic outburst.

Stella threw her hands into the air. "It's hopeless. There's absolutely nothing on Edward Mollington or John Turner...."

"And Jonathan Turner?"

She narrowed her pale hazel eyes at him. "I'm not stupid, Spence. Of course I checked for him as well."

Spence held up a placating palm. "Okay, okay. No need to bite my head off."

Stella blew out her breath, willing serenity to her tense muscles. "Sorry."

"It doesn't mean they weren't involved, remember. Just that they might not have a criminal record."

"Yeah, I know. Or they could be completely unconnected to all this and Boyd's got it round his neck."

He grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She smiled back resolutely. "So, I keep checking?"

"They've got to exist somewhere, right? Everyone's traceable somewhere along the line."

"I suppose so."

"Just give it a bit longer then knock it on the head and get back to the rape cases, okay? I'm gonna speak to the OIC of the Flying Squad that's dealing with the current case, see what she makes of it all."

"Will do." Stella got up from her seat then and moved towards the coffee machine, her nimble fingers preparing the finely ground beans for blending, feeling her nerves twitch slightly in anticipation of the forthcoming caffeine hit. "How were Grace and Boyd when you spoke to them last night, by the way?"

Spence smirked, memories of his boss and the profiler ensconced in fluffy white dressing gowns tumbling playfully through his mind. "They were fine."

Stella caught his expression instantly and raised her eyebrows in question. "What's that look for?"

Spence carefully arranged his features into a mask of innocence. "What look?"

"The 'I-know-something-you-don't' look."

He chuckled loudly. "I don't have a look like that."

"You do, Spence. It's written all over your face."

"Bollocks. This is my 'I'm-trying-to-get-on-with-my-work-so-stop-bothering-me' look."

She laughed. "Come on, spill the beans!"

"There's nothing to spill."

"I'll make the coffee for the rest of the day."

He regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Next two days. And buy the doughnuts."

She sighed theatrically. "Fine. It's a deal."

"What's a deal?" Eve entered the room then, interrupting the flow of their barter and pacing towards them before sinking heavily into the chair beside Spence, her intelligent dark eyes flickering between her companions in question.

"Spence is driving a hard bargain..."

"Hey, you're the one who's being nosey, remember? All I said was they were fine, nothing more, nothing less."

Eve grinned. "Boyd and Grace?"

Stella nodded. "He spoke to them last night and now he's being all coy about it."

"I'm not being coy, Jesus Christ! They're both fine, end of!"

"Well, that's good, then..." Eve said, even as Stella shook her head vigorously, her auburn tresses swaying against her pale skin.

"No way. I'm not buying the coffee and doughnuts for that, Spence. What are you not saying?"

"Nothing! God, bloody women..."

Eve tutted, leaning back in the chair and folding her arms. "Classic school-girl error there, Stella. He made you think he had something to tell and tricked you into agreeing to his terms. Very well done, Spence, bravo."

Stella looked at him open-mouthed as a slow grin spread across his features at the scientist's words, his onyx eyes sparkling with mirth. "Spence," she started through gritted teeth, "you are such a..."

"Two sugars, thanks, Stella. And a double chocolate fudge doughnut – you reckon you can get to Krispy Kremes and back in less than ten?"

Stella grumbled good-naturedly in reply and she stalked towards him, thumping him wordlessly on the shoulder before picking up her handbag and striding from the office, mumbling a torrent of irritated French under her breath.

Eve watched the younger woman exit the room and then rose from her chair to pour coffee for herself and for Spence, who was still chuckling to himself as she joined him back at the desk.

"So," she said throatily after several moments had passed in companionable silence, "are you going to tell me, then?"

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it was you didn't want to tell Stella about Boyd and Grace."

Spence groaned. "Not you as well."

"I'm assuming it wasn't something as outrageous as catching them in flagrante?"

"In that I'd now be in the hospital hearing doctors telling me I've gone permanently blind?"

Eve gave a husky laugh. "So, what was it?"

He shook his head slowly. "How come you expect me to tell you after seeing me extort Stella so expertly?"

"Because I think you're dying to share, Spence. I think you're secretly as much of a gossip as the rest of us girls."

"Whatever."

She shrugged nonchalantly and got up from her chair, retrieving her mug from the desk and moving to walk back towards the lab before his voice stopped her.

"Think fluffy hotel bath robes and you're pretty much there."

She turned back slowly to face him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Boyd?" She asked incredulously.

"Yep. Looked like he was fresh from a health spa. Or a loony bin, one or the other."

"Wow. Brilliant blackmail material if I ever I heard it."

"Exactly. Assuming this all works out okay I'll be using it as ammunition for many years to come."

Eve heard the slight catch in his voice and felt herself instantly sober, the joviality of the past few minutes settling as the reality of the situation reasserted itself coldly. "It'll be fine, Spence. Boyd's a highly experienced copper..."

"Not in under-cover work."

"Maybe not. But his instincts are good and so are Grace's...and isn't that what you lot are always telling us lowly scientists that Police work is all about?"

He smiled grudgingly. "Yeah."

"Besides which, Boyd doesn't seem to be shy with his fists. If it comes to it and Grace is in danger, I can't see him worrying about punching someone's lights out."

"That's true."

"So stop worrying and start drooling in anticipation of that doughnut."

He smiled broadly, the doctor's no-nonsense assessment of the situation calming him. "I'll give you a buzz when she's back."

"Make sure you do. You know I can't make it through the day without my prescribed dose of hydrogenated fat."

Spence laughed, watching her retreating back as she swung open the doors that led to her domain, before settling back down to his computer and the mountainous pile of paperwork at its side.

* * *

Grace awoke slowly, ascending into consciousness as the scent of freshly brewed coffee teased her senses, momentarily puzzled by her surroundings until the events of the previous day snapp

ed sharply into focus in her mind. Sighing softly, she blinked her eyes open and sat up gradually in the bed, her gaze eventually falling on the figure who was hunched over the desk across the room.

Grace shook her head incredulously. "Have you been there all night?" She asked huskily, knowing that her vocal chords required several minutes longer than the rest of her body to rouse themselves in the morning.

Boyd jumped slightly in response, the sound of her voice startling him from his thoughts before he smiled, removing his reading glasses and glancing towards her. "Good morning to you, too."

"Seriously. Have you not been to bed?"

"Of course I've been to bed."

"To sleep?"

He regarded her silently as she posed the question, her slim frame accentuated by the large expanse of bedclothes, noting the slight flush to her cheeks that was perpetually present whenever she nagged him, the genuine concern in her intense azure eyes. Despite himself, he was also acutely aware of the intimacy of interacting with her before she had had the opportunity to tame her tousled hair, to cleanse her skin of sleep, to carefully apply her makeup. _So this is how you are before you slide the mask into place, then? _He mused, watching as she ran a hand across her features. _Christ, it's sexy. _The second thought made him blink in surprise but he forced it into the pit of his stomach, aware that she was saying his name.

"Boyd?"

"Come and have some breakfast, Grace."

She sighed in defeat, aware that she was in all likelihood fighting a losing battle, and she pushed the silky sheets from about her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, padding slowly across the room towards him. She brightened visibly at the vast selection of breakfast items displayed on a shining silver tray and selected an array of berries and a croissant before crossing back to sit beside him at the desk, accepting the proffered cup of coffee with a grateful smile.

"Take a look at these." He opened, sliding several sheets of paper towards her and taking a sip from his own coffee cup.

"What am I looking at?" She asked, picking up her reading glasses from where she had abandoned them on the desk the previous night and blinking rapidly to focus her attention.

"Composite sketches done at the time of the original investigation and one from the most recent case, Spence just emailed them through."

Grace studied each of the four faces before her intently, her eyes flickering across the hand-drawn facial features in an attempt to scrutinise for emotion, for hints at their personalities.

"You think they could be the same person, Grace?"

She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and holding the images at arms length before her line of sight. "It's possible...I mean, with due allowances for disguise, altered hair style and so forth."

"Agreed. I think I'm gonna get Spence to contact a facial comparison expert, see what they can tell us."

"Hmm. What about the CCTV from the latest attack?"

He grimaced, reaching out to press a button on the laptop in front of them, a grainy picture coming into view as he did so. "It's pretty crap..."

Grace watched in silence at screen as it displayed the jerky movements of a tall, well-dressed man making his way through the corridors and doorways of the hotel. "And he's very camera-aware, Boyd."

"Yeah. I'm guessing he sent someone in prior to the rape to do a recce of all the camera locations."

She blew out her breath as the clip ended abruptly. "If that's true then we're dealing with a very cold and calculating personality here, Boyd."

He gave a mirthless laugh, the sound harsh in his throat. "As opposed to all those warm and fuzzy rapists, Grace?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant as opposed to an opportunist. This guy obviously planned the details of the attack right down to the last, he wasn't just doing it on the fly."

"Well, that would fit with the rapes twenty years ago, wouldn't it, if they're somehow connected to a fraud ring."

"Was there any attempts at fraud in the latest case?"

Boyd took a breath to answer but was interrupted by the shrill sound of his mobile phone ringing insistently from his jacket pocket on the chair behind him. He swore softly at the caller identification before pushing the button to connect the line.

"Ma'am."

"Morning, Superintendent." Dyson's curt voice sliced against his ear like glass. "Any progress?"

Grace watched him take a deep, cleansing breath into his lungs and she fought desperately against the smile she could feel playing at the corners of her lips.

"With respect, ma'am, we've been here less than twenty-four hours..."

"I don't want to hear it, Boyd. What I want to hear is that you've got a definite plan for luring your suspect out and arresting him."

"DI Jordan has been working round the clock to provide us with information. We've got artists' sketches of the suspect, surveillance equipment and CCTV imagery, and we're formulating a plan of execution as we speak..."

Grace raised her eyebrows curiously at the exaggeration of his words but he shook his head, gesturing at her to remain silent.

"Good." Dyson said crisply, the brusque nature of her tone grating against the edges of Boyd's nerves. "Don't screw this up, Boyd. This is a very dangerous individual and potentially a very influential gang."

"I'm fully aware of that, ma'am." He replied through gritted teeth, rubbing a hand across his eyes in irritation.

"And let me just remind you that this isn't a free holiday or a dirty weekend, Superintendent. You and Grace are there for one reason and one reason alone and I'd advise you for the future of your Unit to keep that in mind at all times."

_Dirty weekend...?_ Boyd felt his composure evaporate suddenly through the pores of his skin at the insinuation. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"That I'm not above hearing rumours. Take this as a warning, Boyd. You lose your focus on this and I will have no hesitation in shutting you down."

"How dare you..."

"Do I make myself clear?"

He blew out a hot breath, forcing his blood to cool back from its boiling point, though his heart was still pounding in his chest with rage. "Perfectly." He said quietly, his voice low, the anger barely concealed.

"Good. I'll be in touch."

With that, she rang off abruptly and Boyd had to stop himself from throwing his mobile at the wall and watching with pleasure as it smashed into its constituent pieces. Grace looked up at him from her chair, one slender leg crossed over the other, her face a question of intrigue and concern.

"What was that all about?" She asked softly, watching him as he paced towards the bathroom.

He turned to look at her and sighed, internally debating the merits of revealing the true extent of his conversation with his boss. "Just...bloody Dyson sticking her oar in, that's all."

She narrowed her cerulean eyes, unsure of the honesty of his reply. "Nothing else?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Grace, for God's sake..."

"You just seemed very riled by her, that's all."

"I'm always riled by her. She only has to open her mouth and I can feel my blood pressure rising."

She smiled ruefully. "We should probably talk about that one day, you know. Why you have such a problem with authority figures."

He groaned loudly in reaction before striding into the bathroom and shutting the door forcefully, leaving Grace to chuckle to herself as she began to prepare for the day ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N: **Okay, I've had some difficulties with this chapter, it's given me a headache in that I'm not sure it reads well or that the dialogue really works...but I'm not sure I can do any more with it so I'm just gonna post it! Please let me know what you think, all constructive criticism warmly welcomed! Thanks, guys, you really are all keeping me going with this fic x

Grace took a deep breath and wrapped the raspberry sarong about her slim waist resolutely before stepping from the hotel suite and into the corridor. Claiming a case of extreme cabin fever, Boyd had headed down to the spa centre more than an hour previously and now, after a little more time spent reading, she was finally ready to join him. Grateful for his absence in the room, she had somewhat apprehensively slipped into the deep rose fabric of her swimsuit, critically appraising her appearance in the gilded mirror and trying desperately not to obsess over the fine details of her aging body, the slight sag to her breasts, the rounded softness of her hips. Eventually she had sighed in resignation and pulled a shimmering ivory kaftan over her head, gratified by the enveloping properties of the material, before adding the sarong to form an ankle-length skirt and heading out of the room, steadfastly banishing her natural self-consciousness to the deepest recesses of her mind.

Rounding the corner into steamy warmth of the spa, she scanned the surface of the pool for her companion, her breath catching at the sight of his powerful body slicing cleanly through the clear depths of the water, his silver hair glinting in the natural light of the room as he surfaced rhythmically for breath. _God, Sarah's a lucky woman..._The unwelcome thought of his American lover caused a painful constriction across her chest, the lump in her throat cloying as she forced herself to swallow it and she took a deep breath, willing the return of her equilibrium as she settled herself onto one of the poolside loungers.

Boyd raised a hand in greeting and swam towards her, droplets of moisture glistening on his face and neck, his blood pumping with the exertion of his workout. He had seen her approach through the blur of the water, catching furtive glimpses of her every time he interrupted his stroke to breathe and now, as he approached the poolside, he found himself surreptitiously watching her once more, his heart beginning to pound unexpectedly hard against his rib cage as she pulled the kaftan over her head in one fluid motion to reveal her swimsuit-clad body. _Jesus Christ._ The modest clothes she wore on a daily basis in the office merely hinted at the form of her figure but he had never before, in all the years of their acquaintance, observed her free from their confines; now, he found his eyes tracing the soft contours of her body of their own volition, drinking in the slender curves of her waist and hips, the gentle swell of her breasts, the toned lines of her legs partly hidden in the translucent swathes of her wrap. He was suddenly grateful for the cooling balm of the water against the heat of his skin.

"You took your time." He called loudly as he reached her, the deep baritone of his voice reverberating around the marble surfaces of the room.

"Working hard, then?" She asked obliquely in reply, looking up at him over the pages of her magazine, her eyebrows raised.

"Always, darling, you know me." He grinned, his dark eyes shining mischievously, daring her to challenge him on his affectionately casual use of the diminutive.

Grace smiled brightly to counter the lurch in her stomach at his words, feeling her heart twist in the knowledge that the sentiment was anything but genuine. "Good. Glad to hear it."

He pushed away from the side of the pool once more then, his features still creased with a smile. "Well...I'll leave you to your fine literature and get back to feeling the burn."

Grace had to fight an almost irrepressible urge to roll her eyes at him, opting instead for a small wave and a sarcastically sweet smile as she watched him retreat languidly into the inviting depths of the pool. Sighing softly, she lay back against the comfortable cushioning of the lounger and flicked through the pages of the magazine in her lap, her intelligent eyes scanning the articles and absorbing their vacuous contents in an instant, an intense longing for her psychology journals flickering at the edges of her consciousness. Moments later, she had lost all hope at feigning interest in celebrity culture and she cast the glossy pages aside in disgust, allowing in preference her eyes to drift closed and her mind to wander.

"Not stimulating enough for you?"

She opened her eyes slowly as she realised the question was being directed towards her to find a lithe, dark-haired man with pale emerald eyes smiling at her from his reclined position on a lounger adjacent to hers.

With the sudden realisation that she was about to put her long-dormant acting abilities to the test, Grace gave a nonchalant shrug, fixing a warm smile to her lips. "I just read so many of them, that's all. It's nice to give myself a break every now and again."

"I know what you mean, I'm an avid reader myself. Although admittedly more Reader's Digest and less who's-shagging-who in the world of celebrity." He grinned wolfishly and stretched across to proffer his hand. "I'm David, by the way."

"Grace." His skin felt cool, his slender fingers holding hers for merely a fraction longer than was comfortable but sufficient to cause her stomach to tighten in response.

"So, are you here on business or pleasure?" He asked, settling himself back against the cushions of the lounger, arranging his long, tanned limbs into a relaxed pose.

Grace smiled. "I'll take it as a compliment that I look like a businesswomen...."

"Ah." His smile broadened. "Pleasure, then? You a lady of leisure, Grace?"

"I live for leisure, David." She felt the sentiment choke her slightly but forced the words resolutely past her vocal chords. "And yourself?"

"Oh, strictly business, I'm afraid. Hedge funds and property mostly but I'll spare you the boring details."

"It's probably just as well. I imagine most of it would go completely over my head."

He laughed huskily. "I see. You expect me to believe you're all beauty and no brains?"

Despite her natural urge to grimace at the cliché, Grace lowered her eyes in a manner she hoped appeared appropriately demure. "I couldn't possibly answer that, David."

"And why not?"

"Because I'd hate to come across as up myself, either which way."

David laughed again, the vibrant tone in contrast to the slender lines of his body. "You know, self-confidence is a very sexy thing in a woman, Grace…"

She struggled to suppress a shudder at his words, an icy chill running the length of her spine. "Hmm. Something that only comes with age unfortunately, and not while you're still young enough to reap the benefits."

"Is this where I'm expected to issue forth a one-liner about women and wine?"

Grace laughed. "Getting finer with age? Or is that richer?"

His smile was warm. "Finer, of course. Money's irrelevant."

"I'd believe you if you hadn't just told me you were in investments."

"It just means I've got my own money, Grace. I'm not on the look-out for anyone else's."

"So, what _are_ you on the look-out for, then, if you don't mind me asking?"

He grinned and gestured towards her. "Charming company to break up the tedium of business meetings. The chance to chat up attractive women next to the pool." He shrugged casually. "D'you want me to go on?"

"No. You might make me blush."

"Well, that was the general idea."

She laughed, shaking her head incredulously. "Are you always this forward, David?"

He shrugged once more, his slim shoulders rising and falling as he adjusted his position on the lounger to angle his body more towards hers. "Grace, I made my first million when I was eighteen. By the time I was forty, I was worth more than fifty times that. I didn't get there by being shy. About anything."

"Well..."

"And I've got to the stage in life where I don't want to let any opportunity pass me by, professional or personal. Whatever it might be."

"A seize-the-day attitude?"

"Exactly. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Not at all. I'm just...It's unusual for me to be approached by men these days, that's all. At least one's that aren't just after my money or trying to get me to change my will."

He regarded her with his head on one side, his expression one of disbelief. "You _are_ joking?"

"Why would I be joking?"

"Because...when I saw you enter the room, Grace, you just about took my breath away."

Despite her misgivings about his intentions and his identity, Grace felt her skin begin to burn furiously at his words and she closed her eyes to centre her mind, determined to regain control of the conversation. David read her body language in an instant and he placed a hand gently on her forearm, his fingertips brushing her skin in a gently caress. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I?"

Grace opened her eyes and forced a wide smile to her features, feeling the heat beginning to recede from her face at his cooling touch. "No, no, it's not that, it's…"

"Look, let me buy you a drink to make it up to you, just to show you I'm not a creep."

"I'm sure you're not a creep…"

"Shall we say tonight in the bar, then?"

Grace held up a hand, aware that she was about to drop a bombshell into the conversation, one that she had been deliberately withholding. _Let's see how you react to this, then... _"Well, I don't know what my husband would have to say about that, to be honest, David."

A shadow passed across his elegant features fractionally, his intense chartreuse eyes darkening for a brief moment before he blinked, his expression returning to one of relaxed neutrality. "Husband?"

She gestured towards the water, to the figure pounding the length of the pool, his muscular arms cutting through the waves as he swam towards the side. "Did I not mention I was here with my husband?"

He smiled coldly. "I guess it must have slipped your mind."

Grace blinked, hoping she was conveying an appropriate expression of vacant forgetfulness. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"Is he the jealous type then?"

"Is who the jealous type?"

As if on cue, Boyd's sleek head appeared over the side of the pool, his forearms supporting the weight of his glistening torso, his eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown as he glanced between Grace and the man at her side.

Grace took a deep breath and gave him a sultry smile. "You, my love."

His mouth twitched slightly in a smirk, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. "But of course I am, Grace. How could I not be where you're concerned?"

She rolled her cerulean eyes and laughed, the sound bubbling from her body, and she gestured between the men by way of introduction. "David, this is Peter, bane of my life for the past twenty five years and counting."

David dipped his head in greeting though his eyes flickered towards Grace. "Does she always introduce you like that?"

Boyd grinned. "Only when she's really, really happy with me. You should hear what she calls me when I've pissed her off."

Grace chuckled. "Don't pay any attention, David. It's all scandalous lies with no basis in fact whatsoever."

David smiled ruefully. "Ah. The line often adopted by beautiful women to cover the truth of an indiscretion."

Boyd laughed loudly and pushed back from the poolside before moving towards the steps and climbing from the water to pad across the marble tiles towards them, peripherally aware of Grace's efforts to avert her gaze from his body at his approach, a thrill crackling through his bloodstream at the merest hint of a blush colouring her pale skin. Still smiling, he proffered his hand to the younger man, who rose from his lounger to accept it.

"Sorry, David, I didn't catch your surname..." He said as he withdrew his hand, nodding his thanks to Grace as she passed him a towel, his observant mind rapidly working to commit the details of the man's face and his words to memory.

"It's Britten. David Britten."

"You here on business?"

Britten nodded, his clear green eyes meeting Boyd's squarely. "Of course, who isn't, Peter? Got to try and stay ahead of the game in a recession, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. You in stocks and shares?"

"Hedge funds and high-end property. The very top of the market."

"Well, we must sit down together and talk shop over a beer sometime, then. It's always good to meet a fellow trader."

"Sounds good to me." He reached a slender hand into his bag then and extracted a business card, its sleek design one of iridescent geometric shapes. "I'm here all week, Peter."

Boyd nodded, waving his hand dismissively towards the card, indicating that Grace should take it. "Likewise. Now, if you'll excuse us, David, my wife and I have a date with a jacuzzi which I have no intention of missing, if you catch my drift."

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Grace accepted his hand, allowing herself to be pulled roughly to her feet. She glanced remorsefully over her shoulder as Boyd began to lead her briskly away, her chest tightening as she caught the raging bitterness pooling in the younger man's expressive eyes, the emotion quickly repressed by a wide smile as he realised she was still watching him. She mouthed an apology towards him and he winked in response, warmth pervading his features, and Grace felt her stomach clench, acid coiling unpleasantly beneath her rib cage. _God, you're very Jekyll and Hyde, _she thought._ Not a bad profile for a rapist..._ Shivering slightly at the notion, she inched almost imperceptibly closer to her companion, stifling a surprised gasp as he slid a damp arm about her waist, drawing her body against his as they walked towards the foaming water of the jacuzzi, its shimmering tiled walls set discreetly back from the poolside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N: **My apologies, everyone, for taking an age to update – yet again, RL's been kicking me about a bit this past week or so and I've had no time…Hope you enjoy this short chapter, I'll do my best to get the next part written asap! Thanks for your continuing support x

"What d'you think, then?"

Boyd reclined back against the smooth mosaic tiles of the jacuzzi, stretching his long legs beneath the bubbling surface of the warm water and allowing his arm to drape casually across the tiles behind his companion, feeling her tense fractionally as his fingertips gently brushed her shoulder.

"About what?" Grace breathed softly in reply, suppressing an almost irresistible urge to sigh at the sensation of his touch, forcing herself instead to concentrate on the pleasurable feel of the jets of water firmly massaging her back and shoulders.

"Your man, Billy Fuckwit over there." He said, the resonant timbre of his voice low, his head angled towards her to ensure she was the only recipient of his words.

Grace smirked, her eyebrows quirking upwards as she turned her face towards his, feeling electricity prickling across her skin at his proximity. "_My_ man?" She queried playfully.

Boyd rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"You mean, after less than five minutes of talking to him, do I think he's the rapist?"

He grinned boyishly. "Yeah."

"You really want to talk about this here?"

"No time like the present, Grace."

"No place like being in public, Peter."

Boyd gestured to their secluded surroundings, the low wall separating the jacuzzi from the sparsely populated remainder of the spa room. "Hardly public, is it?"

"Well, as good as."

His smile widened. "I don't know, Grace. I don't normally lie about in public in my swimming trunks."

"I noticed." She replied quietly, uncomfortably aware of a rapid flush spreading across her chest and neck, her heart beginning to thump enthusiastically against her ribs as she caught the broadening of his amused expression, the soft wrinkles deepening around his dark eyes.

"So...are you going to tell me then or what?"

She sighed in defeat. "I didn't talk to him for long enough to form a proper opinion, Peter. As well you know."

"I know you'll have at least gleaned an initial impression..."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Because isn't that what you do as a psychologist? Make instant judgements on people?"

Grace raised an eyebrow, challenging him to elaborate further. "Judgements?"

"Assessments, then. Come on, Grace, cut me some slack here, for God's sake…"

She smiled at the wheedling tone to his voice and held up a placating palm. "All right. To me, he seemed…arrogant to the point of narcissistic, possessive, dominant but, at the same time, extremely charming, flattering…"

"Attractive?"

She shrugged, careful to avoid his eyes. "In an obvious sort of a way, I suppose."

"Hmm..."

"It's a stereotype of a sociopath, Peter. But it doesn't necessarily follow that he's also a rapist."

"No. It's entirely possible after all that he was genuinely trying to chat you up."

Grace looked at him, her deep cerulean eyes narrowing, an odd constriction lancing painfully across her chest at the inflection she inferred in his tone. "But you doubt it?"

He blinked, surprised at the edge to her voice. "Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Grace, of course I think it's…"

Boyd cut his sentence suddenly short as he noticed the approach of a waiter who was bearing two elegant glasses of a sparkling liquid on a shimmering tray, a small smile playing politely across his lips. He acknowledged the occupants of the jacuzzi with a curt nod as he reached them. "Sir, Madam, I'm sorry to interrupt but the gentleman over there wanted to send these over with his compliments. He said to tell you 'no hard feelings'."

Grace raised a surprised eyebrow, following Boyd's lead as he accepted the chilled glass of champagne. "Thank you." She said, smiling warmly at the waiter who nodded once more before retreating.

Boyd's gaze followed the uniformed man out of sight before he spoke again, briefly raising his glass towards Britten as he caught his eye across the room, the younger man inclining his head in acknowledgement. "You don't think he poisoned it, do you?" He asked out of the corner of his mouth, scrutinising the cheerfully bubbling liquid suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

Grace smiled, grateful for the distraction from their previous conversation. "Well, maybe yours…"

"Because he sees me as a rival?"

"I was_ joking_, Peter, for God's sake. Of course he hasn't poisoned it."

"I might let you go first anyway. Just to make sure."

"Oh, that's charming." She rolled her eyes and took a sip from her glass, feeling the amber liquid tickle her throat pleasantly as she swallowed. "So, what are you going to do if I keel over now then?"

He grinned, his dark eyes shining mischievously. "Not drink the champagne, obviously."

"And watch me die a slow painful death right before your eyes while smiling smugly?"

"Well…I'd maybe try mouth-to-mouth first."

Grace felt a smile tug at the edges of her lips. "And if that didn't work?"

He shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance, desperately trying to maintain a neutral expression. "Chest compressions."

Grace's head fell back against his arm as the laughter spilled from her body, her shoulders shaking with her mirth and Boyd felt warmth spreading through his chest at her reaction, watching her with a smile as she wiped her eyes in attempt to regain control of her amusement. Momentarily, he allowed his fingers to brush lightly across her skin once more, trying not to dwell on its silken softness beneath the droplets of moisture, and she turned her face towards him, her sapphire eyes sparkling.

"You all right, then?" He asked, a lopsided smile playing across his features. "No nausea, palpitations, light-headedness?"

Grace rolled her eyes and raised her head from his arm to take another sip from her glass. "Risk it, Peter. It's good champagne."

"Oh, fine. You twisted my arm." He grinned at her once more before finally taking a long draw from his glass, sighing with satisfaction at the taste of the luxurious liquid and adjusting his position beneath the water to allow the soothing jets better access to the knotted muscles of his lower back. _God, I could get used to this_, he thought, allowing his eyes to drift slowly closed. _Expensive champagne in the middle of the day, afternoons spent lazing in a hot tub...with a woman who has absolutely no fucking idea how sexy she is..._He felt his pulse quicken at the unbidden thought. _Oh, Christ, I could really be in trouble here..._

"So," Grace said, after several moments had passed, breaking him from the somewhat dangerous musings of his reverie, "what's the plan of action, then?"

Boyd cleared his throat, forcing himself to concentrate on her words and less on the tantalising movements of her body as she shifted to face him. "I think we should suggest meeting him later, buy him a drink to thank him for the champagne..."

"And subtly interrogate him?"

"I was thinking more of subtly photographing him. We need something to compare to those artist sketches from the previous cases."

"Hmm. Bearing in mind the twenty year age difference."

"Yeah. Might be worth seeing if Spence can get them age-progressed, there's an artist at the NMPH that does it."

Grace was silent again for a moment, thoughtfully sipping her drink once more before she spoke. "You know something, though? I didn't get a sense of familiarity from Britten, even after having looked at the sketches this morning."

"And you think you would, if it was him?"

She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Maybe. I guess it would depend on the accuracy of the depictions, the reliability of witness descriptions...Neither of which offer any guarantees."

Boyd blew out his breath. "He's all we've got to go on at the moment though, Grace. Barring no results turning up for those other names I found."

"I know. But just consider, Peter, that we're basing it all on an initial impression here. It's not exactly the most appropriate basis for an investigation."

He smiled ruefully. "It's gut instinct, Grace. It's what ninety nine percent of Police work is all about."

"So, you keep telling me." She replied, amusement sparkling briefly in her eyes before she sobered again. "I'd like to review the surveillance imagery for the past couple of days as well. See what his movements and behaviour have been like since the covert cameras were installed."

"You mean see if he's shown an interest in any other women here?"

"That...and just to see if I can get a general feel for his personality."

"All right." Boyd drained his glass then before stretching his arms, catching Grace briefly on the shoulder as he did so. "You ready to get out, then?"

She groaned, slipping deliberately further beneath the frothing water. "Do we have to? My back hasn't felt this good in a long time."

He chuckled softly and rose to his feet, displacing the water to either side of him, the droplets of tepid water trickling down the lines of his muscles, and he held out a hand towards her, noting with pleasure the manner in which her eyes danced furtively across his body. "Come on, Grace. If I don't get out now I might shrivel to nothing."

Smiling, she grasped his fingers and allowed him to pull her to her feet, feeling the momentum overbalance her slightly as he did so, her palm falling naturally against his chest to steady herself, his hand moving quickly to her waist in response. She felt the breath catch in her throat at the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, the rhythmical thud of his heart pulsing gently against her hand, the heat of his palm against the curve of her waist, and she swallowed resolutely, stepping backwards to put some distance between their bodies, studiously avoiding his gaze as she did so. _Oh, God, how does he still have this effect on me after all these years?_ She thought with anguish, her stomach twisting painfully as the emotions she ordinarily kept at bay flooded suddenly to the surface. _It's not like it'll ever be reciprocated... _Sighing softly, she stepped from the warmth of the water and followed him across the spa towards the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**A/N: **My apologies for the slightly self-indulgent tone of this chapter – the bit about age-progression and facial comparison draws heavily on my real-life experience and I've never been able to incorporate either into a fic before so I seized my chance! :) Hope it's ok and not too random. Also, one other thing, NMPH stands for National Missing Persons' Helpline, a charity in the UK that provides help and support for missing persons and their families.

* * *

Eve took a long, satisfying draw from her cigarette and pushed an errant strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, narrowing her pale hazel eyes as she studied the images in front of her, unconsciously gnawing on her lower lip in concentration as she did so. Momentarily, she let out a sigh of frustration, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown and she pushed the papers forcefully to one side, getting up from her desk to pace back and forth across the tiled floor of the lab.

"Everything all right?" Spencer's voice drifted into her consciousness from the lab doors and she turned to see the DI shrugging into a stiff white overcoat, Stella following suit at his side.

Eve sighed and beckoned them towards her, gesturing at the papers on her desk. "Come and take a look at this." She said, unable to keep a note of weariness from creeping into her voice as she mentally prepared herself to divulge her less than satisfactory findings to her colleagues. "These are the original artist sketches which we've had age-progressed, very speedily I might add, by an experienced professional at the NMPH..."

"How accurate are they?" Spence interjected, picking up one of the drawings and studying it intently, his onyx eyes skimming over the sketched lines, absorbing the fine detail of the facial features.

Eve shrugged. "They're an artistic interpretation, Spence. It's not an exact science and the artist would normally have a lot more to go on; parental and sibling photographs, lifestyle information, for example...I mean, obviously in this case, she's had none of that so she's just had to use the general way in which we all age, as opposed to specifics."

"So it's just guesswork, then?"

"Well, it's an educated guess. The woman who does this has a background in anatomy, she's studied faces and the aging process her whole life.."

"But it's still less than scientific, isn't it? It's just her opinion, at the end of the day."

Eve gave another conciliatory shrug, gesturing with her hands, her iridescent violet nail polish catching the light. "There's a research group at the University of...I think it's Kent, who are working towards automating the age-progression of facial images, making the process more scientific..."

"So why didn't we involve them, then? Sounds better than all this artistic bullshit..."

"Because it's still a work in progress, Spence. For now, it's accepted that the artistic approach is the way to go, like it or not."

Stella moved forward to pick up another document from the table, taking a breath to speak before Spence could form a reply to the scientist's sharp rebuke. "So you compared the age-progressed sketches with this photo of David Britten, then, right?"

Eve nodded, grateful for the progression of the conversation which had been facilitated by the younger woman. "Yeah."

"And what did you find?" The Frenchwoman's cinnamon eyes were brimming with expectation.

Eve sighed deeply. "Well, I'm no facial comparison expert but...I can tell you categorically that it's not him."

"What, none of them?" Stella asked incredulously, brushing her auburn hair back from her face as she bent her head to examine the parchments once more.

"None of them." Eve confirmed, pausing to take another drag on her cigarette.

"You sure?" Spence asked, a deep frown marring his features, his charcoal eyes intense as he surveyed her, holding up a placating palm as he caught the irritated expression on her face. "Sorry. But we've found that David Britten has some pretty heavy previous; fraud, embezzlement, he spent five years inside, for Christ's sake..."

"I don't care." Eve said forcefully.

"Eve..."

"Look, it doesn't change the evidence, Spence, all right? See the form of Britten's ear, the protrusion at the superior aspect?" The scientist gestured towards the photograph near her right hand, tracing her finger along the curve of the subject's ear and waiting until the two Police officers had nodded their affirmations before continuing. "It's different to all those of the artist pictures. Now, I know we're not dealing with photographs but ears are like fingerprints; they're completely unique to each individual."

Stella frowned as she pulled the various documents towards herself. "They all share similar other features, though..."

"Yeah, well, they could be identical in every other way but if the ears don't fit, it's meaningless." Eve shrugged. "It's not him, guys."

"Could they be brothers?" Spence asked.

The scientist blew out her breath and raised her eyebrows as she considered the question in her mind. "Well, it's possible. Or they could be completely unrelated and just happen to look a bit alike. No way to know for sure from the pictures of course."

"Shit." Stella sighed loudly, a futile attempt to assuage her frustration. "Looks like it's back to square one then."

"Nah, Britten's got to be involved somewhere along the line, even if that's not him in the artist sketches." Spence replied, his eyes narrowing as his sharp mind began to race. "I think he's..."

"There's no 'even if' about it, Spence." Eve interrupted sharply, determined to reiterate her point. "I'd go into a court and give evidence on this without question."

The DI held up his palm once more. "All right. I'm just saying I think he's connected, that's all. The Fraud Squad have been watching him off and on for twenty years when he's not been at Her Majesty's Pleasure..."

"Yeah and several Flying Squads have had him under surveillance for the past few months." Stella added.

"And they're sure he was at the St. Ives Lodge at the time of the latest rape?" Eve asked.

"They're positive." The younger woman replied. "They started watching five or so of the seriously upmarket hotels in the area as soon as they got word that the fraud operation might be starting up again..."

"And when Britten turned up at the St. Ives Lodge and then a rape was reported..." Spence shrugged his broad shoulders. "QED."

Eve frowned. "It's still circumstantial though, isn't it? I mean, there's nothing solid that links him to either the rapes or fraud twenty years ago or to the latest rape now?"

"No, not yet. I guess that's where Grace and Boyd are meant to come in."

The scientist sighed heavily. "They having any luck on that score?"

Spence gave a small smile. "Well, Grace said Britten thoroughly gave her the creeps."

Eve grinned in response. "Which probably means he's guilty of _something_, then. Grace can be scarily perceptive."

"Yeah. Doesn't help us much on the hard evidence front, though."

Stella blew out an irritated breath. "I think if Dyson had her way we'd have to wait for him to physically attack Grace before we can arrest him. Anything other than that and she's scared he'll wriggle out of the charges somehow."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, eh."

"If it does, I'll personally make sure he'll be facing castration along with his jail term." Spence said darkly, eliciting a throaty chuckle from Eve.

"Not if Boyd gets there first." She said, her hazel eyes shining.

"Well, how about we take a bollock each, then, keep it fair?"

The scientist laughed loudly. "I'm sure Grace'll be thrilled by that prospect. Why don't you suggest she mounts them on her wall as well?"

Stella grinned. "We could call it modern art."

"Excellent. I've always loved art with a practical purpose."

The laughter of the three colleagues reverberated joyfully from the metal surfaces of the lab then, a welcome balm to the intensity of the previous conversation, before they gradually sobered once more, Eve recovering first as she drew a breath to speak.

"So," She started, watching the two Police Officers as they slowly gained control of their mirth, "where's this Britten bloke been for the past twenty years, then? And why did the attacks suddenly stop?"

Stella gave a lop-sided shrug, causing her wide necked mauve t-shirt to partially slip from her left shoulder. "According to the records, he's kept a low profile, travelled round Europe, worked various jobs..."

"And he hasn't committed any crime in all that time?"

Spencer barked a short laugh. "He hasn't been _caught_ in all that time, Eve. There's a difference."

"Hmm. Fair point. If a slightly jaundiced Police stereotype of a suspect."

"Well, you know me. I just call 'em as I see 'em."

"Maybe he just got bored." Stella said, causing her colleagues to shift their attention towards her, their eyebrows simultaneously raised in surprise.

"What?" Spence asked incredulously. "Criminal mastermind gets fed up of the fraudulent high life where he can rape women whenever he fancies and quietly retires to the Algarve?"

"It's not impossible, is it? I mean, it's like Grace has said before, it's a myth to think they never stop."

"So why start again, then? Why risk detection by sticking his head above the parapet all these years later?"

The DC sighed, holding up her hands in defeat. "I don't know, Spence. I was just playing...what's that English phrase? Devil's Advocate? Just trying to provide a different perspective, that's all."

"Yeah, well, I'm not convinced. I'd bet good money the little shit was carrying on for twenty years, he was just a bit more subtle about it than he was before or is being now."

"It's still a weird profile, Spence, when you think about it." Eve said thoughtfully. "He's active then quiet then active again if what you're saying is true."

"Exactly." Stella added. "It's almost as if...well, as if more than one person is involved in all this."

The scientist nodded slowly. "Sounds like a distinct possibility to me. Certainly plausible."

Spence grunted in begrudging acknowledgment. "I'll talk to Grace about it, all right? See what she thinks."

Stella smiled slyly, her amber eyes sparkling. "Does this mean you're taking on board our opinions, then, Spence?"

The DI looked at her evenly, amusement flickering across his features though he tried desperately to project an air of seriousness. "Of course, Stella. Last time I checked, I wasn't Boyd."

His comment precipitated raucous laughter from the women before Eve held up her hand as their joviality began to subside. "All right, you two, play time's over. Now get out so I can do some work, will you?"

Spence gave the scientist a mock salute before turning to his DC as they began to make their way towards the lab doors. "Ah, I take it back, you know. Looks like the spirit of the tyrant _is_ present after all..."

Stella grinned. "Albeit in female form."

"I heard that!" Eve called from her desk, rolling her eyes as Stella turned to wave sweetly across the room and then smiling to herself as she settled back down to her lab reports, lighting another cigarette to focus her attention on her paperwork once more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T/M, for language.

**A/N: **Okay, this fic is rapidly turning into a bit of an epic – I only ever intended it to be a shortie so if it's getting boring or too drawn out, please let me know. I will happily take any constructive criticism! Thanks x

* * *

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm aware of that...Yes, DI Jordan has kept me well up to speed on Britten's record...No, Ma'am, nothing threatening as yet and as I understand it, the evidence was all circumstantial..."

Boyd paced the length of the room in irritation, the pleasant feel of the soft golden carpet beneath his bare feet in stark contrast to his boss' harsh tones as she barked questions against his ear. He took a deep, cleansing breath, willing serenity to his bloodstream before replying once more.

"We're seeing him again tonight...yes, of course 'we', what the hell do you take me for?!" His voice had risen suddenly in volume as his restraint snapped in annoyance, and he waved a hand towards Grace to silence the question on her lips, the puzzlement in her azure eyes. "No, that's completely unacceptable, that could pose a serious threat to her safety...You can call it whatever you like, Ma'am, it's not going to happen! She's not a Police Officer, for Christ's sake!"

Listening to the one-sided exchange with growing concern, Grace had risen slowly from her chair to stand in front of him, her delicate features a portrait of anxiety, her forehead marred in a frown, her posture radiating her tension. "What?" She mouthed silently, eliciting a violent shake of the head from her companion, his skin flushing deeply, his chestnut eyes flashing as he continued to concentrate on his boss' words. Momentarily, he gave a mirthless laugh, the hollow sound permeating the air, shattering the quiet in the room.

"You can threaten me all you like, Ma'am, it won't make any difference....Of course I bloody care what happens to them! I'm just not prepared to compromise one member of my team for the sake of the careers of the others!...Jesus Christ, it's like talking to a brick wall!...Because, unlike some people, Ma'am, I am not a _fucking_ robot!"

He ended the call abruptly with the emphasised expletive, growling loudly as he tossed the phone onto the bed. "For fuck's sake!" He yelled in frustration and he blew out his breath loudly in an attempt to expel his rage, running a hand roughly through his silver hair in irritation.

Grace watched in silence for several moments as he paced angrily back and forth in front of her, her eyes tracing his path, before she took a breath to speak. "Feel better for that?" She asked eventually, hoping the soft timbre of her voice would help his blood to cool.

Boyd groaned, passing a hand across his features and rubbing his eyes before crumpling onto the bed. "No, Grace, I bloody don't. I still want to throttle the fucking..."

"Boyd. That's enough." She admonished, her tone laced with warning at his liberal use of language.

His expression was apologetic though his eyes were still burning with annoyance. "Sorry. She just seems to bring out the worst in me."

"That's an understatement." Grace took a step towards him before sinking onto the bed at his side, careful to maintain an appropriate distance between their bodies. "What was it she was saying, anyway?"

Boyd sighed deeply, the breath rattling noisily through his chest. "Let's just say she was making yet another unreasonable demand."

"Specifically?"

"I feel like I've got permanent bloody deja vu..."

She looked at him pointedly, unperturbed by his deliberate avoidance of her question. "Specifically, Boyd?"

He sighed again, knowing he could no longer withhold the information. "She wants you to meet with Britten, Grace. Alone. She seems to think it's some genius method of bringing him out into the open, as it were."

Grace felt the breath leave her body in a sudden rush and she sat back against her hands, feeling a pressure tighten across her chest. "I see." She said quietly.

Boyd turned to face her, concern flickering in his dark eyes. "You heard me on the phone. I told her it was out of the question."

She laughed harshly. "Do you honestly think that'll make a difference? It's not like that approach with her has worked in the past..."

"I don't care." He said forcefully, sighing as she flinched before continuing with a more gentle tone. "Look, she can shout and scream, she can order me, threaten me with closing down the Unit, she can even bloody _sack_ me, Grace. There's no way I'm putting you in that position, all right?"

The soft vehemence in his voice caused a warmth to spread throughout her chest and she gave him a small smile, relief flooding her senses. "All right."

"Good. Glad we're on the same page."

"So, what _are_ we going to do, then?" She asked, after several moments had passed, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room the gentle, rhythmical ticking of a crystal carriage clock perched regally on the mantelpiece.

Boyd simultaneously shrugged and sighed, sitting back on the bed and angling his body towards hers. "Well, we'll go and meet him. Together. See what the slimy bastard wants to talk about this time."

"He's not the man in the age-progressed artist sketches, Boyd, you _were_ listening when Eve said that, weren't you?"

"Of course I was. Doesn't necessarily mean he's not the rapist, though, does it. Or involved with the fraud somewhere, it would fit with his previous convictions."

She smiled ruefully. "Something about a leopard never changing his spots?"

He grinned triumphantly, his dark eyes shining. "There, you see? You're finally coming round to my way of thinking after all these years."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Not by a long way."

"No? Why the hell not?"

Her smile widened. "Because someone's got to challenge you from time to time, haven't they, keep you on the straight and narrow. Besides, I actually happen to _believe_ in rehabilitation, Boyd."

He groaned loudly, theatrically. "Bloody bleeding heart liberal."

Grace rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying it works for everyone but for a significant proportion of offenders...if they receive the right therapy and support..."

"Yeah. Support which is paid for by my taxes, Grace, and yours, don't forget."

She shrugged. "I have no problem with it, not if it helps people not to re-offend when they come out. Surely that's got to be in the best interests of society as a whole."

"You think a serial fraudster like David Britten isn't likely to re-offend, then?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying it's a possibility, one you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss that's all."

"I thought he gave you the creeps, Grace. That official psychological term you use so often."

She suppressed a shiver. "He does. But that could just be the way he is, the way he's wired in the head, or a behaviour he's learnt. It doesn't automatically follow that he's a rapist."

"So you've said before."

"And he could well have left his days of embezzlement behind as well. Twenty years is a long time, Boyd. People change."

Boyd shook his head firmly and maneuvered himself from the bed, bending to find his shoes long abandoned by the desk. "Not this one, Grace. This one's in it up to his fucking neck, I'd bet my life on that."

She chuckled softly. "You shouldn't say that, you know. A life's too precious a thing to bet with."

He grinned at her, proffering his hand as she moved to stand. "Mine in particular, or just life in general?"

Her sapphire eyes were sparkling. "What do you think?"

He looked at her for a moment, absorbing the challenging amusement in her expression, before groaning loudly and stepping away from her towards the door of their room. "I think I need a drink. You're wearing me out with all this psychological posturing."

Grace laughed. "I told you, Boyd. Part of my job is to challenge the way you think about things."

"You'll never change me, you know, Grace."

"I'd never presume to. Or want to, as it happens."

He raised his eyebrows at that, taking a breath to reply as he opened the door, his expression darkening to a frown as he heard her gasp sharply at his side. Momentarily, he followed her gaze to the floor where a decadent basket of flowers lay, deep crimson roses resplendent in their contrast with soft white lilies, angular foliage arranged artfully between the blooms and a cream bow tied with a flourish at the handle.

"Shit." Boyd breathed softly as he picked up the display, carrying it back into the room and placing it onto the desk, his fingers retrieving a small card that had been partially hidden amongst the flowers, his eyes scanning the name marked in a cursive script across the pearl embossed parchment . "For you." He said flatly, wordlessly passing the document to his companion, aware that the colour had drained suddenly from her face.

Grace accepted the card with trembling fingers, clearing her throat nervously as she began to read the neatly written prose aloud. "'Grace, forgive me, but when I saw these I couldn't resist. My regards to Peter – please tell him I have a business proposition for him, if he's interested in discussing it. I'll be in the bar at seven, David.'"

Boyd was silent for several moments, watching the emotions playing across her face before speaking again. "What do you make of this, then, Grace?"

She blew out her breath and raised her eyebrows, carefully choosing her words as they passed her lips. "Well, it's very bold, isn't it. Very brazen."

"How d'you mean?"

"I mean..." She looked at him, fixing him beneath her intense cerulean gaze. "If a man other than you or a relation had sent Mary flowers, back when you'd been married, how would you have felt?"

He inclined his head thoughtfully. "I'd have been seriously pissed off. No doubt about it."

"With her or with him?"

He smiled grimly. "I'm not sure I can answer that without divulging the details of my shitty attempt at marriage, Grace."

She emulated his expression with empathy. "In theory, then. And think like an alpha male."

"Don't I always?"

"Boyd."

"With him, then, I suppose. For presuming he could get away with it."

"Exactly."

"That what he's trying to do then, Grace? Piss me off, goad me into doing something?"

"I think he's trying to let you know that he's not afraid of you while at the same time ingratiating himself to you professionally."

"And you're just caught in the middle?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know what part I'm supposed to play in all this."

Boyd gave a mirthless laugh. "No bloody part if I have anything to do with it."

"And every bloody part if Dyson had her way?"

"It's not an issue, Grace. He comes within three feet of you and you start to feel uncomfortable I'll kick his smarmy arse to kingdom come."

Grace smiled, her whole body tingling in response to his protectiveness, her heart swelling. "And for once I don't think I'd object, either."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, let's go and see what this business proposition bullshit is all about, shall we?" He proffered his arm and Grace took it gratefully, squeezing his bicep gently as they stepped from the room and into the corridor.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T/M, for language.

**A/N: **Just to say, this may be the last chapter for a while as I'm going on holiday soon so won't have time to write...but I've made it quite long so hopefully it'll keep you going for a bit! Thanks so much for sticking with me thus far, I promise things are going to heat up spectacularly soon :) I will post the next chapter just as soon as I possibly can x

* * *

"Peter, Grace, I'm so glad you could join me."

David Britten stood up from his plush chair in the hotel bar to greet Boyd and Grace as they approached from the entrance, his lithe features creased in a warm smile, his posture relaxed. He proffered his hand towards Boyd as the pair reached him, noting with some amusement the vice-like grip with which the older man crushed his digits, his free hand resting lightly yet protectively on his companion's lower back.

"I do hope I didn't draw you two away from anything important?" He asked, his pale aquamarine eyes twinkling with barely concealed innuendo as his guests took their seats at the table and he was pleased to see Grace's delicate skin flushing slightly at the question.

Boyd smiled widely to cover the nauseous twisting of his stomach, aware of the insinuation in the younger man's query and determined not to rise to it. "Of course not, David. I had some meetings this afternoon but nothing earth shattering."

"Ah. Not so lucky as to wile away the day in your suite with your lovely wife, then?" Britten asked, his gaze fixed on Grace who smiled demurely, the soft wrinkles which decorated her skin deepening briefly, adding warmth to her expression.

Boyd laughed, reaching to his left to squeeze Grace's hand gently, trying not to focus on the sensation of her velvety skin beneath his. "It would rather be taking the piss as far as my company is concerned, don't you think?"

"Well, I suppose so. Must be a bind for you though; I mean, if I had a wife as gorgeous as yours I don't think I'd ever be persuaded to leave the bedroom." He grinned wolfishly at Grace, his eyes flickering overtly across her upper torso, lingering briefly on the full, rounded breasts modestly contained within a fitted amethyst blouse. He caught the almost imperceptible darkening of Boyd's expression with a slight thrill before continuing. "Still, no rest for the wicked, isn't that right? After all, if people like us didn't do our jobs the wheels of business would grind to a screeching halt in less than five minutes."

Boyd swallowed his rising irritation with a concentrated effort, aware of Grace's equally tense body at his side and he forced himself to adopt a neutral posture as he leaned back against his chair._ Jesus Christ, arrogant as well as lecherous, top fucking combination there, David... _Aloud he said,"Oh, I don't know about that. Maybe ten minutes is more realistic."

David laughed loudly in response, reaching for the emerald bottle which adorned the table and encasing it in his slim fingers. "Can I call a halt on the business talk for a minute and tempt you both with a drink? It's a Romanée Conti, one of my personal favourites; I'm on very good terms with the vineyard owner."

"That would be lovely." Grace answered for both of them, accepting the heavyset crystal glass from the younger man with a smile whilst suppressing an urge to shudder as his fingers brushed hers. Momentarily, she leant back in her chair, keen to withdraw from his touch, and she took a sip of the rich burgundy fluid, allowing its smooth acidity to coat her synapses before speaking again. "Thank you for the flowers, by the way. You really didn't have to do that."

"Grace, it was my pleasure. I only hope I wasn't treading on your husband's toes, I certainly didn't mean any disrespect."

Boyd forced a laugh in reaction before Grace could reply. "Quite frankly, David, I'm grateful. You saved me a job, even if it did rather put me to shame."

Britten chortled, amusement sparkling across his expression. "Not a flowers man, eh, Peter?"

Boyd shrugged languidly, trying to project an air of relaxed nonchalance. "Let's just say I prefer to show my affection in other ways, that's all; diamonds, for example, properties abroad, that sort of thing."

Realisation dawned across the younger man's features. "I'm impressed. Now who's putting who to shame, then?"

"Sadly not. In my experience, for some inexplicable reason, women seem to prefer flowers above everything else. Isn't that right, darling?" Boyd addressed the question towards Grace with a raised eyebrow, his deep chestnut eyes dancing as he dared her to contradict him.

The profiler shrugged one slender shoulder, injecting as much saccharine sweetness into her voice as she could muster. "It's romantic, Peter."

"I can be romantic, Grace..."

_Just not with me, is that it? Never with me... _Grace felt her heart lurch painfully in her chest at the notion, the teasing lightness of his tone. She forced a playful smile to her lips, her eyes locking intensely with his as she replied. "Hmm. I think maybe I've witnessed it once or twice over the years..."

"Well, I'd hate to be predictable."

"You're anything but that."

Britten cleared his throat loudly, breaking the sudden, electric tension that had risen between his two companions, his stomach churning with annoyance that he was desperately trying not to convey. "Not that I enjoy interrupting tender moments between people as obviously in love as you two but I _do_ have a business proposition to discuss, Peter, if you're at all interested."

Boyd grinned broadly to cover the acute discomfort in his chest, the blood pounding rapidly through his veins. _Obviously in love? Grace and I? He doesn't know what he's talking about..._ "Of course I'm interested, David. I wouldn't have come if I wasn't."

Grace smiled, resolutely forcing the ache in her throat to the depths of her subconscious. "Is that my cue to leave, then, gentlemen?"

Britten returned her expression, a patronising edge creeping into his voice as he replied. "Unless you have a head for business, Grace?"

She laughed lightly to dispel the spark of indignant anger which had fired rapidly in her stomach. "Oh, God, no. I'm afraid I don't have much of a head for anything."

"Well, I'm sure you have other talents. Much more useful ones." His tone was suggestive as he raised his eyebrows, his sallow emerald eyes darkening in hue as he spoke.

"She does." Boyd answered mischievously, cutting across Grace as she took a breath to reply, his dark eyes shining , studiously avoiding her gaze as the innuendo fell almost unbidden from his lips. "Believe me, David, she most definitely does."

"I'll have to take your word for that, Peter...unless the two of you have one of those fantastically liberal 'open' marriages so popular these days?"

Boyd gave an apologetic smile, fighting the rising bile in his throat as his body reacted aversely of its own accord to the younger man's words. "I'm afraid I'm rather of the traditional school of thought as far as that's concerned, David. I'm strictly a one-woman man."

"Ah, I thought as much. And quite frankly, being married to your wife, who could blame you?" Britten smiled knowingly before turning his attention to Grace, who had risen from her seat in preparation to leave the table. "How about you, though, Grace? Would you ever consider straying from the conjugal bed if your husband gave you permission to?"

Grace blinked, momentarily unsure of the most appropriate answer to give, uncomfortably aware of the heat of Britten's gaze, the intense scrutiny in his pale eyes as he surveyed her. _The real question is, how do you __**want**__ me to answer, you creepy bastard? If I give an affirmative, will you think it's morally acceptable, in your own warped frame of reference, to rape me? If I say no, does my being unattainable make the game even more of a challenge?_ She blinked again, the realisation of her internal assumption causing a tightening of her chest. _I think I've just definitively made you the rapist, then...and I can't shake the feeling that I'm right, lack of evidence or no...God...I hope I'm about to do the right thing..._

Her decision made, she laid a hand on Boyd's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, saying firmly, "My husband is my whole life, David. The thought of being with anyone else absolutely turns my stomach."

Britten's expression darkened instantly at her words, an amber fire sparking dangerously in his tepid eyes, but he forced a resolute smile and a rapid answer to his lips. "You're to be applauded, then, both of you. You're truly a model of virtue for the morally corrupt society of today."

Boyd laughed loudly, repressing a derisive snort of amusement. "Hardly a model of virtue with what I do for a living, David, my marriage aside. Being morally corrupt goes with the territory to a greater or lesser degree, don't you think?"

"With what _we_ do for a living, Peter. Though I think 'morally corrupt' might be taking it a bit far."

Boyd grinned wolfishly. "Speak for yourself. I've been described in the past as a man who'd sell his own mother down the river for a quick profit."

"And on that note, I think I'll leave you to it." Grace said quickly before Britten could reply. "I think the less I know about your shark-like business qualities, the better, Peter, don't you?"

"You worried it'll make you re-think your saint-like attitude to marriage, Grace?" Britten asked, smiling teasingly.

"Oh, absolutely. I'd hate to have my illusions shattered after all these years."

With that, she bent down and kissed Boyd gently on the cheek, her lips brushing chastely across his skin, her heart beginning to pound as she registered its surprising softness beneath her mouth, her nostrils filling with the subtle scent of his cologne. She was suddenly possessed with the desperate urge to turn his face towards hers, to claim his lips with her own, to learn their feel, to taste his tongue, and she straightened abruptly, shocked by the intensity of her physical reaction to the man she had worked with day in, day out for almost eight years. _Oh, God, I thought I was over this, _She thought painfully_...It's pathetic, bloody futile and pathetic, I'm sixty years old, for crying out loud..._Forcing her thoughts back to the scene at hand, she swallowed the aching lump in her throat and said quietly, "Don't be too long, love, eh?"

"Just keep the bed warm for me, won't you, Grace?" His voice was low, husky and he smiled as he turned to look at her, an intense, yet teasing, warmth pervading his expression.

"Oh, I will. No need to worry about that." She replied, her sapphire eyes sparkling as she acknowledged the broadening of his smile at her mischievous reply. Momentarily, she turned towards David, noting the tension in his shoulders, the brooding dusk of his expression as he witnessed their interaction with obvious discomfort. "Will we be seeing you at the dinner-dance tomorrow night, David?"

Instantly his demeanour lifted, his slender features creased in a smile. "Only if you'll save me at least one dance, Grace."

She smiled. "I think I can manage that."

"In that case, yes, you will most definitely be seeing me then."

"Good. Enjoy your meeting, gentlemen."

Before Britten could engage her further, Grace walked briskly away from the table, discomfited by the knowledge that his eyes were following the lines of her body intently as she did so.

* * *

Grace looked up over her reading glasses from her hunched position over the desk, blinking her attention away from her files as she heard the faint click of an electronic key card in the lock and the suite door slowly opening. She raised her eyebrows and glanced at her watch as Boyd strode wearily into the room, seemingly oblivious to her presence, and he fell at once onto the bed, his back connecting with the soft mattress and a groan escaping his lips.

"I was starting to get worried." She opened after several moments had passed, observing his prone form with a slight frown as a deep sigh released itself from his broad chest. "You were a long time, Boyd."

"Give me a minute, will you, Grace? I need to resurface from the sea of bullshit I've been summarily immersed in for...how long was it, anyway?"

"Three hours, give or take."

Boyd blew out his breath. "Christ. Felt like twice that."

"Time didn't fly then, even in the illustrious company you were keeping?"

He groaned again, the sound a low rumble in the quiet tranquillity of the room. "Just count yourself lucky you escaped when you did." With a concerted effort, he heaved himself up onto his elbows to address her further, a tired smile forming on his lips. "Stick the kettle on, Grace, would you?"

Grace rolled her cerulean eyes even as she stood to cross the room, her slender fingers focussed momentarily on the task he had assigned for them, the water gurgling pleasantly as the shining chrome kettle began to fill. "This another one of my wifely duties, then?"

"I thought you lot were all about equality. I made the coffee this morning, for God's sake."

"You _poured_ the coffee this morning, Boyd. Big difference."

"Oh, get off my case. I've suffered enough at work today pretending to be a grade A tosser in the company of a bloody lunatic; I don't need hassle when I come home as well."

Grace gave him a lop-sided smile as she poured the bubbling water into two delicate cups. "Home?" She repeated teasingly, a playful lilt to her voice, a sparkle glinting in her sapphire eyes. "Care to examine that construct further, Boyd?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was a slip of the tongue, Grace. And don't you dare start talking about Freud or I think I might lose it completely."

Grace laughed loudly in response, padding back across the room towards him and handing him a cup before taking a seat in one of the luxuriously upholstered armchairs nearest to the bed, pulling her long plum-coloured cardigan about her petite frame as she did so. Boyd grunted his thanks and brought the cup gratefully to his lips, instantly grimacing at the unfamiliar taste of the piping liquid on his tongue.

"What the hell _is_ this?" He asked sharply, frowning suspiciously at the delicately pale fluid caressing the edges of the intricately decorated receptacle in his hand.

Grace raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome."

"Come on, Grace, cut me some slack here, for God's sake..."

She smiled, relenting instantly as she allowed her body to relax into the comforting warmth of her chair. "It's camomile tea, Boyd. It's too late for caffeine so..."

"Jesus Christ." He groaned theatrically, cutting across her sentence. "It's one step away from knitting your own yoghurt, you do know that, Grace, don't you? It's a slippery slope once you start with all this hippy crap."

Grace studiously ignored him. "It'll help you sleep."

"If you say so."

"I do."

They drank in relative silence then, the quiet punctuated only by Boyd's continual grumbling, which eventually lessened to a barely audible moan as he reached the bottom of his cup. Grace watched as he drained its contents dry before lying back down on the bed, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Are you going to tell me how it went, then?" She asked, leaning back against the soft cushions of the chair and crossing one slim leg over the other. " With Britten, I mean?"

"He's absolutely full of shit, Grace. He's so far up his own arse, it's a wonder he hasn't made a mistake over the past few years and had the Fraud Squad breaking down his door."

"Well, maybe he's been very careful. Or he's very clever, one or the other."

"I'll say this much; he plays his cards very close to his chest. I'm still completely in the dark about this so-called business deal he wants me to be a part of."

Grace blinked, surprised. "You didn't talk about it?"

"He went round and round the same old shit, bragging about how brilliantly well he's done in his career, side-stepping the whole issue of anything illegal and the fact that he's spent time inside, of course."

"Of course."

"We did arrange another meeting, though. For a week's time in the Harlequin Hotel and Spa across town."

"Why such a delay?"

"I don't know. Something to do with making sure his contacts are in the vicinity."

Grace paused to take another sip of her tea. "You think it's a set-up?"

Boyd sighed deeply, rubbing a hand across his features before half rising from his prone position, his weight resting on his forearm as he turned his body towards hers. "I don't know, Grace. If it is, it's a well orchestrated one, I'll give him that."

"It could be dangerous, Boyd..."

"I know. I'm going to keep Dyson in the loop, see what she says about getting some back-up in the Harlequin for the meeting just in case Britten decides I've become expendable."

Grace took a breath before speaking again, gnawing silently on her lower lip as she fought the rising anxiety in her chest. "And what about me, then? Where do I fit in to this business deal?"

"I'm not sure you do. To be honest, the only time you came up in conversation was for him to wax lyrical about how much he fancies you."

Despite herself, Grace felt heated blood diffuse into her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to her lap briefly before forcing herself to look at him once more. "Did you push him on that, Boyd?"

A slow smile spread across his features at her question, his dark eyes shining. "Did I get the dirty details, you mean?"

She sighed. "Look, if he's the rapist, I need to get a feel for his mechanism, all right? How he operates, how he goes about getting to know his victims."

"And you think me pressing him about what he'd like to do to you will help in that regard?"

Grace looked at him evenly, absorbing the amusement in his expression, the light in his eyes. "You're not helping here, you know. In fact, I'd say you're enjoying my discomfort just a little bit too much for your own good."

"Oh, come on..."

"No, Boyd, I'm serious. You can't tell me you think his outpouring of apparent lust is a normal reaction..."

He smiled slowly at her solemn expression, the slight frown marring her forehead, the sober darkening of her cobalt eyes. _God, does she really have no idea how attractive she is?_ "Why not, Grace? He's a man, isn't he, aren't you lot always telling us how we're perpetually driven by our hormones?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but my point is, Boyd, he thinks you're my husband. You've got to admit that's more than a bit odd; having a conversation with a man about how attractive you find his wife is not usually considered socially acceptable."

Boyd inclined his head in contemplation of her words, one eyebrow raised pensively. "You might have a point there."

"It's indicative of his sociopathic tendencies. He may be completely unable to perceive relationship boundaries and abide by them."

"So, what does that mean, Grace?"

She sighed deeply. "It means...if he _is_ a rapist, he'll have no compunction about taking what he wants. By whatever means necessary."

Boyd ran a hand through his silver hair distractedly, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Shit."

"Bear in mind I'm not saying he's guilty."

He looked at her scathingly. "Right."

"No, I mean it. His pathology might not be as simple as that."

"Meaning what?"

"Well, you saw how he was when we were there together with him; he could barely contain his irritation, his jealousy...but there was something else there too. Something like voyeurism."

Boyd blew out his breath loudly. "Jesus. So he's trying to rein me in on a business deal for the purpose of what? Getting his rocks off watching while you and I...?"

Grace flushed deeply, an anguished expression passing across her features and she held up her palm to stop him mid-flow. "Don't go there, Boyd."

He grinned. "You're the one who brought up voyeurism, Grace. I was just filling in the blanks."

"I know, but think about it. If his thing really _is_ watching couples together, why weren't there reports of it twenty years ago? Why was it just women who came forward after being raped?"

"Well, maybe it's his new thing."

"I don't think so. I think it's more likely we're looking for two people here, as far as the rapes are concerned."

Boyd sighed loudly, the sound rattling noisily through the bones of his chest and he said nothing further for several minutes, rousing himself from his reclined position on the bed to replenish the kettle, his thoughts racing rapidly as he did so. Momentarily, the steam billowed from the spout and he poured the boiling water generously, handing a comfortingly warm cup to Grace before reclaiming his position on the bed. She smiled briefly as she accepted his offering, noting with silent amusement that he had automatically brewed more camomile tea for them both.

"Come on then, Grace, spit it out. Put me out of my bloody misery."

Her smile broadened. "Okay. Consider it like this. Two men working together..."

"Related?"

Grace shrugged. "It's possible. Britten's the attractive, charming one..."

"That's a matter of opinion."

She sighed, frustrated at the interruption. "Boyd."

"Sorry. Go on."

"Britten's the more charismatic of the two. He's drawn to women of a certain age, of a certain social status and he desires them, not just sexually, but as almost always with sexual predators, it's about the power he can exert over them as well." She took a breath, pausing to take a sip of the fragrant tea and to confirm the fullness of his attention before continuing. "But with Britten, there may well be another psychopathy at work. This sense I had about his voyeurism, the way he eluded to our alter-egos' sex life, it could be..." She broke off with a soft sigh, faltering over the words as the thoughts formed behind her eyes, wondering how to vocalise the musings of her mind. "It could be that he genuinely likes to watch, that that's what turns him on or..."

Boyd regarded her silently for a moment, watching with intrigue as the intricate workings of her intelligent brain flickered across her features. "Or what?"

"Or that he's forced to...maybe because of some kind of sexual dysfunction. He can't penetrate these women sexually so he gets someone else to do it while he watches. And the voyeurism is what arouses him, what gives him his sexual thrill, even if it's only by proxy."

Boyd released a slow breath, his eyebrows raised as he considered her words. "Christ."

Grace gave him a small smile. "This is all hypothetical, of course. I'm not suggesting it's the gospel truth, by any stretch of the imagination."

"No, but...assuming that it is...what about the other man involved, the one who actually carries out the rapes?"

"Well...it's likely he's got psychological problems of his own....maybe an extreme lack of confidence, body dysmorphia. He feels he can't go out and find a woman himself because he's so repulsive so he waits for Britten to bring him one." She laughed mirthlessly. "It's something of a symbiosis, they're each fulfilling a need vicariously through the other."

He nodded slowly, as a realisation crept into his consciousness. "Hmm. It might explain why the artist sketches don't seem to be of Britten."

"Because they're of the other man?"

"Yeah." He frowned suddenly and sighed as yet another notion occurred to him. "If this is true, Grace, why didn't the victims report that there were two men involved in the attacks? Why were there only ever composite sketches done of _one_ man?"

Her own sigh matched his. "I don't know...drugs, some kind of memory suppressant?"

"But there are no guarantees those would have worked. And Britten doesn't seem to be trying to disguise his appearance."

"Well, maybe they didn't care, then. Maybe they're both so far gone in their psychoses that getting caught stopped mattering." She shrugged slightly, her slim shoulders rising and falling in a fluid motion. "And maybe the victims only remembered the face of the rapist. Maybe after the trauma of the attack, their interactions with Britten just faded into the background."

His expression was sceptical. "You think so?"

"It's possible. Repression's a powerful psychological tool, remember"

Boyd released another concentrated breath, bringing his hand to his face to rub his weary eyes before speaking again. "Okay. Assuming you're right about all this...what should be our next move, Grace? Given that we need to produce some sort of solid evidence before we can arrest the bastards."

She sighed softly, letting the silence between them elongate briefly before saying, "Well...it's possible that if his jealousy over your presence gets the better of him, it might spur him quicker into action as far as I'm concerned."

He looked at her evenly, his dark eyes searching the depths of her cerulean orbs. "You mean we need to goad him?"

"We need to ignite his jealousy, Boyd."

"We need to be more overt in our affection around him?"

"In our _affected_ affection. Yeah."

A flicker of a smile passed across his features as he tried desperately to reign in his mirth. "I think I can manage that."

Her eyes danced briefly. "Good."

Boyd paused momentarily, enjoying the frisson arcing across the air between them, the warmth of her expression. "About the fraud, Grace..."

"You're going to ask me how it all fits in."

"Well, since you're full of theories, tonight..."

She smiled slightly before sighing. "It could be a random connection."

He gave her a mock glare and tutted. "And you were doing so well. You running out of steam?"

"Mmm. Years ago."

"Come on, Grace, keep with me. Then I promise we'll go to bed, all right?" She raised an amused eyebrow at his words and he rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

She smiled, relinquishing her teasing expression. "It's probably a wealth thing. The women being targeted were all well-off, successful people in the world of finance, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So, if Britten and his partner have a connection to organised crime, it's a perfect combination; they get to fulfil their sexual perversions before passing her over to their associates."

"Great. A win-win for everyone." His tone was caustic.

"That's exactly how they might be thinking about it, yeah."

Boyd paused thoughtfully. "Of course in our case they're dealing with both of us. Not just a woman on her own."

"I know. Could be they assume I'm wealthy by default because I'm married to you…"

"Yeah, but it's me they've targeted for the meeting."

She sighed wearily. "I don't know then, Boyd. This is all speculation in the first place."

"All right." He rubbed a hand across his beard pensively before yawning loudly. "Let's call it a day, Grace. Tomorrow we step up the game, see what happens and hope for the best."

"Can't wait."

He smiled at the sarcasm in her voice. "It's a plan, isn't it?"

She shrugged, anxiety flickering briefly in her eyes. "After a fashion."

Boyd caught her expression instantly. "You know I'm not going to let anything happen, don't you? You _can_ trust me, Grace."

She looked at him for a long moment, feeling her soul begin to calm, tranquillity lapping at the edges of her consciousness as she absorbed the sincerity in his dark eyes, the firm insistence of his tone. "Of course I trust you..."

"But?"

"But if all I've just said is true...Boyd...I..." Grace felt her voice falter, the words catching in her throat and she sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap.

"Britten could be extremely dangerous. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I just..."

"Grace." Boyd held up his palm wearily, halting her sentence even as she spoke. "Let's just get some sleep, all right? I don't know about you but I'm fucking knackered. We'll worry about it all in the morning."

She smiled at his words, relief flooding her chest. "All right."

"Good."

He gave her a warm smile, and then forced himself to rise from the bed before padding, exhausted, across the expanse of the room and towards the bathroom.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T/M, for language, adult situations.

**A/N: **Well, I'm back from my travels so here is the next installment – sorry it's taken a bit longer than I hoped, I've been rather distracted by RL and by Series 8, particularly 'End Game'. Thanks very much to my kindred spirit, **shadowsamurai83**, for the much appreciated beta! :) Hope you all like it, comments, criticisms, as always, warmly welcomed x

* * *

Grace stood before the floor length mirror amongst the gleaming marble surfaces of the bathroom and took a deep breath, watching the rise and fall of her chest in her reflection, the anxiety flickering across her features. She had hesitated fractionally before choosing to pack the garment she now found herself wearing, but at the last moment had thrown it hastily into her bag before she could change her mind, swallowing the doubt deep into her stomach. The dress had been the last gift her husband had bought her before his death ten years previously and she had worn it merely a handful of times since then, evoking, as it always did, the inevitable memories, the grief that simmered constantly just beneath the surface of her control. Sighing, she willed away the painful knot in her stomach and smoothed the shimmering material against her body, narrowing her eyes as she examined her reflection once more. She had to admit, with a slight smile beginning to flutter at the corners of her mouth, that the dress was extremely flattering; a deep and iridescent teal, the colour enhanced her eyes and skin-tone, the soft material closely following the lines of her curves, emphasising her slim waist and skimming her hips, the swathes falling glamorously to the mid section of her calf.

"Grace! You fallen down the plug hole in there or what?"

Grace rolled her eyes at the impatient tone carrying easily from the other side of the door and she leant towards the mirror to apply her lipstick. "Two seconds, Boyd, all right? It takes a lot of poly-filler to make me look acceptable these days."

He laughed loudly, teasingly. "Slapping it on with a trowel, are you?"

"Oh, charming."

"You're the one who started it, I was just....Oh, for Christ's sake!"

His voice had risen sharply in volume and Grace frowned immediately in response, picking up her handbag and moving quickly from the bathroom to the bedroom area of the suite, where her companion was standing before a mirror, his rugged features marred by his obvious frustration.

"You all right?" she asked as she approached him, trying desperately not to dwell on the sight of him in his evening suit, the sleek black trousers, the crisp white shirt that emphasised the breadth of his chest, the powerful set of his shoulders; she had always found him particularly attractive in black tie.

"Yeah, I just can't get this bloody thing to…." He gestured at the ends of the bow tie hanging loosely about his neck and sighed noisily, his fingers lifting the material to make a further attempt at manipulating it even as she stepped towards him.

"You should buy one on elastic, Boyd," she said playfully, her sapphire eyes shining as she reached up to prise the cloth from his hands, her nimble fingers beginning to encourage it to form the required shape.

He rolled his charcoal eyes at her tone. "But then I wouldn't be able to do that James Bond thing at the end of the night, would I? All dishevelled and…."

"You think you can pull that off, then?"

"Oh, come on. If Roger Moore can do it…."

Grace laughed. "True enough."

He watched her silently for several moments then as she worked, her proximity allowing him to subtly inhale the scent of her hair, fragrant notes of coconut and jasmine pleasantly combined with hints of her perfume. He had to make a determined effort to prevent his eyes from wandering the tantalising inch of cleavage visible just above the neckline of her dress. Eventually, he spoke once more. "Grace?"

"Hmm?"

"About tonight…."

She looked up at him as her hands continued in their work, a hint of anxiety flashing briefly in the cerulean depths of her eyes. "What about it?"

He took a deep breath, unsure how best to voice the notions that were tumbling haphazardly through his mind. "I'm going to need you to trust me...."

Grace frowned slightly at his tone, the expression creasing her features with concern. "How do you mean?"

"I mean…." He broke off and sighed, shifting in his position before her, a vague sense of unease pervading his limbs. "If our objective tonight is to rile Britten into some sort of action, I may need to...behave less than appropriately, Grace. Towards you, I mean."

Realisation flooded through her and she felt a flicker of a smile beginning to play across her face as she caught the insinuation behind his words. "Meaning what exactly, Boyd?"

The policeman blew out a hot breath and looked at her with irritated incredulity. "Are you being deliberately obtuse here? I think you know what I'm getting at, Grace, you've got enough qualifications that say so, for God's sake."

Grace allowed her amused smile to broaden. "You're trying to guard against the very real probability that I'll slap you if you slide a hand up my leg or touch my backside, is that it?"

He groaned and closed his eyes momentarily, his discomfort evident across his face. "Something like that."

"Relax, Boyd. I know what role-play is."

"It's just…."

"It's a game. I know. It's just a game." She swallowed the painful lump that had suddenly become lodged in her throat, forcing her attention back to the manipulation of his bow tie and away from the intoxicating pools of his eyes. _I know when you touch me you won't mean it....and it kills me, Boyd, it really does_….

"Right. Just so long as we're clear. Because you giving me a black eye would just be embarrassing, Grace. I'd never live it down."

Grace forced a smile at the deliberate lightness of his tone. "I promise I won't. I want to know what Britten's up to as much as you do, Boyd."

"So, you'll follow my lead, then?"

"I'll do whatever you think is necessary."

"Good."

She finished her task with a flourish then and stepped back to survey her work, critically appraising his appearance through narrowed eyes before finally nodding in satisfaction at the neatly tied garment nestling proudly beneath the stiff winged collar of his shirt. "All done," she said softly, her breath catching in her chest as she allowed her eyes the briefest indulgence of roaming the rest of his body.

Boyd moved to the mirror to inspect her handiwork for himself, his eyebrows quirking upwards before smiling at her. "I'm impressed."

"You're welcome."

"You about ready to go, then?"

She shrugged, walking to the bed to retrieve a shimmering pashmina, which she arranged artfully about her shoulders before returning to his side. "As I'll ever be."

Boyd merely grunted in response, touching his hand gently to her back to encourage her exit from the room, the layered silk of her dress pleasantly warm beneath his palm.

* * *

Grace sat back against the satin cushioning of her chair, happily content after the luxuriant richness of the meal and the decadent smoothness of the red wine to observe the room around her. The lighting was soothingly soft, the flickering candles floating peacefully amongst bowls of ivory rose petals providing the only illumination in the elegantly decorated room, which was tastefully resplendent with its cream and silver furnishings. A four piece jazz band played hazily on a dais in the corner, the soulful melodies a perfect complement to the relaxed atmosphere and Grace felt herself sigh softly, letting the music drift slowly through her senses and allowing her eyes to float gradually closed.

"You're not going to sleep on me, are you?"

Boyd's amused voice was warm against her ear, its deep timbre resonating through her skin and she had to fight an almost irrepressible urge to shiver as his hand found the back of her neck, his fingertips caressing the tiny tendons and flooding her muscles with warmth.

She regarded him through heavily lidded eyes and yawned. "What do you think?"

He sighed, though his fingers continued in their ministrations, marvelling in the softness of her skin and the intimacy of the interaction. "For God's sake, Grace…."

"You're the one who kept plying me with wine. Plus the music, the candlelight...I can't take it at my age, Peter, it just makes me want to close my eyes."

"Well, you can't. We still have a job to do here, in case you'd forgotten."

She patted his thigh reassuringly and forced herself to blink several times, the seriousness of the situation returning to her senses with startling clarity. "I hadn't forgotten. Believe me, I wish I could."

"You and me both. You really think this is how I would choose to spend a Saturday night, given a free choice?"

She tensed fractionally at his words, despite the joviality in his tone, feeling them coil through her stomach like a serpent. "Of course not."

Boyd took a breath to reply, noting the strain in her voice with a frown, before he became aware of Britten's slender form crossing the room towards them, the younger man's pointed features alight with a smile, and he groaned. "Oh, God, and here he comes...Look at him in his bloody pretentious designer suit and his…."

Grace smiled, leaning towards him to brush his leg once more. "Play nice, Peter. You're meant to be friends now, remember?"

"It's killing me, Grace. The man's a nutcase."

She smirked. "I _would_ say it takes one to know one…."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"...But I won't, given the severity of the situation at hand here."

He rolled his eyes and continued to address her in an undertone, even as he raised a hand in greeting towards Britten. "So I get a reprieve from that highly respected psychological theory, then?"

She smiled. "For now."

"That's comforting. Christ, I'm glad you're not my therapist, Grace."

Grace's eyebrows quirked up in surprise at his comment, her mouth falling slightly open, but she was prevented from responding by the arrival of David Britten at the table, his lithe body clad in an immaculately tailored suit, his hair neatly styled, a polite smile playing across his features.

"David," Boyd opened, rising to shake the younger man's hand firmly. "Having a good time?"

Britten's smile broadened, his eyes flickering towards Grace, who was looking warmly up at him from her seated position. "All the better for seeing the two of you here. The company on my table was agonisingly dull."

"That's always the risk you run coming to these things, I suppose. Luck of the draw and all that."

"Indeed." Britten paused, his gaze intensely focussed on Grace before addressing Boyd once more. "I don't suppose I could take your lovely wife off your hands for a bit, could I, Peter? I've been dying for a dance with her all night."

Boyd forced a grin despite the pull of anxiety in his stomach. "Absolutely. Be my guest, David."

"Wonderful. I promise not to wear her out _too_ much."

Grace glanced at Boyd briefly, comforted by the silent reassurance in his dark eyes, before taking Britten's proffered hand and allowing herself to be led to the dance floor, desperately trying to repress a shudder as the younger man touched a hand to her waist, drawing her body close to his. She took a deep breath as they began to move slowly to the music, Britten's fingertips cool against hers as he encouraged their joint movement, and she smiled at him, determined to belie the waves of nausea that were pervading rapidly through her stomach.

David eagerly returned her expression, warmth radiating from his pale eyes. "Would it be stepping over a line to tell you how beautiful you look, Grace?" he murmured gently, and Grace allowed her gaze to fall demurely from his at his words, fighting an urge to roll her eyes.

"I think you need your sight testing," she replied softly, self-deprecatingly.

He laughed loudly. "I have twenty-twenty vision, Grace, always have done. So don't tell me I don't know a beautiful woman when I'm dancing with one."

She smiled, unable to prevent a slight flush from creeping into her cheeks at his seemingly genuine flattery. "I could get seriously full of myself at the rate you're carrying on here, you know."

"Well, good. It should be a natural state of being for someone like you."

"I don't know about that, David," she said hesitantly, wondering how he would react to her words, "All I really have going for me is money, at the end of the day; cold, hard money...and not much else."

He grinned, easing her body ever closer to his. "But there's none such an aphrodisiac as money, Grace. Money and beauty. And it seems to me as if you've got both in equal combination, it's almost…."

"What?" she prompted as he began to falter, sensing an almost uncharacteristic hesitancy in his tone.

He looked at her intensely, his eyes darkening to a deep emerald, his voice catching marginally in his throat. "Irresistible," he said huskily.

Grace suppressed a surprised gasp as she felt him shift slightly in her arms, angling his hips away from her with an almost inaudible moan, and she felt her heart begin to thump loudly in her chest, adrenaline pulsing uncomfortably through her blood. _Oh my God_….

"You're...far too kind to me, David...I…," she managed finally, stumbling over the words as they struggled past her vocal chords.

He smiled hazily through heavily lidded eyes. "You _would_ tell me if I was being inappropriate though, wouldn't you, Grace? I do have a tendency to get carried away when I meet someone I feel a...connection with."

"It's just…." She sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I'm married, David. Happily married. It's not like I've tried to keep that from you."

"You don't think I'd be a match for Peter, then?"

Grace frowned, tendrils of fear beginning to pervade her consciousness. "Are you being serious?"

David looked at her intently for a long moment, the tension and confusion radiating from her body thrilling him, before he threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Of course not, Grace! What do you take me for?"

"I just…."

"I _like _Peter. I admire what the two of you have together. I'm just an incurable flirt and…." He broke off briefly and shrugged. "Yes, maybe an opportunist. I can't deny I wouldn't be trying to get you into bed if you were single. But you're not. So I'm not. I'm just enjoying a bit of healthy back-and-forth with an attractive woman. That's not against the law, is it?"

Grace smiled, despite the prickle of anxiety tingling across her skin at his words. "No…."

"So you don't mind if I continue showering you with flattery, then?"

"Just as long as we're clear, David. It can't go any further than that."

"I understand that, Grace. I _do_ have a modicum of intelligence, you know." He smirked suggestively. "Although, obviously I don't always use the brain in my head, more the brain in my…."

Grace rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Typical man."

"You have no idea."

Britten took another breath to speak, to address her further but he was prevented from doing so by Boyd's arrival at his shoulder, a slight frown marring the policeman's features as he surveyed the dancing couple before him.

"I think that's enough now, David," he said, his tone deceptively light as he touched the younger man's arm, encouraging Grace's extraction from his arms. "I'm starting to feel like Billy bloody No-mates sitting over there and besides…."

"You're getting jealous," Grace completed his sentence with a smile, relief flooding her senses at his timely interruption, a flutter beginning in her chest at the sparkle in his dark eyes.

Boyd grinned at her, studiously ignoring the irritation emanating from every pore of Britten's skin. "Too bloody right I am."

Britten cleared his throat, a forced smile stretching the skin tightly across the fine bones of his face. "You know the days of cutting in like that are long since over, don't you, Peter?" he said, false joviality colouring his tones.

Boyd laughed loudly and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "I don't think the rule applies when another man is dancing with one's wife, David, do you?"

Britten shrugged, his palm still flush against Grace's waist, reluctant to relinquish his hold on her. "Oh, I don't know. It might be considered bad form."

"Well, be that as it may. I'm telling you that time's up." Boyd's voice was suddenly firm. "It's not a request, David."

The slender man laughed, raising his palms in surrender as Grace took a step backwards. "Fine! There's no need to take a tone, Peter."

Boyd smiled coldly. "I wasn't taking a tone, I assure you. Just telling you how it is."

"And I respect you for that. As I respect your wife."

"Good. Then you won't mind that I'm politely asking you to step aside."

Britten shook his head slowly. "You know, Peter, you've got a hell of a territorial streak there. You should probably get help for that."

Grace smiled broadly as Boyd took another breath to speak, an attempt to dissolve the atmosphere that had arisen suddenly, intensely between the two men. "Don't waste your breath, David, I've been telling him that for years. It's like talking to yourself."

"Hmm, it seems like it." The younger man smiled resolutely as Boyd began to bristle slightly at her words. "Thank you for the dance, Grace. You made my night."

"My pleasure…."

"I'll leave you in peace, then."

With a final smile at Grace and a curt nod in Boyd's direction, Britten began the slow walk back across the dance floor. Grace raised her eyebrows at her companion as she observed the irritation in his body language, allowing a lengthy and cooling silence to ensue between them before she spoke.

"Was that really necessary, Peter?"

"Was what really necessary?" he replied distractedly, his sharp eyes tracing Britten's progress across the room before returning their full attention to the woman standing opposite him.

"That harping back to caveman days, there."

Boyd sighed noisily. "I thought we were supposed to be trying to goad him…."

"We are. But not by getting him so riled that you end up making yourself a target."

"Rather me than you, Grace."

She frowned. "Don't go there…."

"It's true. It's not like you should ever have been put in this position in the first place."

"Let's not go around this loop again, Peter, all right?"

"Dyson…."

"I know. But it's the price I pay for being associated with you, at the end of the day,…."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Carefully chosen words, Grace; 'associated with', not 'working for'."

"Of course. That's what I get paid for, isn't it?"

He smiled, taking a step towards her and noting the fractional dilation of her pupils with a slight thrill. "Think you can bring yourself to dance with me, then?"

"I don't know, Peter. Mr Britten set the bar pretty high, you know…."

Boyd rolled his eyes, touching one hand to her waist and bringing the other to her right hand, pulling her body suddenly towards his in one fluid motion. She gave a slight gasp at his actions, her heart slamming against her rib cage as he began to sway her gently to the music.

"So, come on, then," he said quietly, after several moments had passed and they had found a suitable rhythm. "What did you and the king of sleaze talk about while he was so expertly guiding you around the dance floor?"

Grace shrugged, trying desperately to ignore the sensation of his palm tracing minute circles against her lower back. "He was full of flattery actually…."

"Well, of course he was," Boyd scoffed derisively. "He wants you to feel at ease, Grace, that he's the most trustworthy man on the planet before he…."

"So you don't think any of his compliments were genuine, then?"

"He's got a sociopathic agenda, hasn't he? And he's a bloody con-man."

"Hmm. You can't argue with biology, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…." She broke off, feeling a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks despite herself. "That it's impossible to fake a natural physiological response to attraction, that's all."

Realisation dawned across his features at her words. "He was aroused?"

Grace shrugged. "He was trying his best to hide it but, yes. He was definitely aroused."

"So there's the sexual dysfunction theory out the window, then."

"Not necessarily. I mean, just because he can attain an initial…."

"Doesn't mean he can keep it up for the purpose?"

"Exactly."

"So he'd be frustrated."

"Yeah. But much more than that if we're right about the nature of his psychopathy."

Boyd was thoughtfully silent for a few moments before speaking again. "So, was he vocal in his flattery as well, then, or was it just a reaction to proximity, do you think?"

Grace frowned slightly. "What difference does that make? Either way, I think he's...genuine in his attraction, Peter, he's…."

"I was just wondering if he managed to convince you with words, that's all, if that's how the other women were reassured that he wasn't a monster or…."

She felt herself flush. "Give me _some_ credit, Boyd."

"Oh come on, Grace, stop holding out on me. What did he say?"

She sighed, averting her eyes from the intense scrutiny of his gaze, embarrassment creeping hotly into every fibre of her body. "He said I was...beautiful," she murmured reluctantly after several moments had gone by, the silk of her dress feeling suddenly, uncomfortably warm against her skin.

Boyd gave a low chuckle. "He beat me to it, then."

Grace's sapphire eyes flew to his in astonishment, shock crackling through her bloodstream. "You _what_?"

He smiled slowly, squeezing her body gently closer to his as he spoke. "You look stunning, Grace. I've been meaning to tell you all night but it seems like that bastard got there first."

Grace felt herself blush deeply at his words, a pink glow infusing her cheeks, which she was aware was visible despite the low-level lighting of the room. She surveyed him through narrowed eyes, desperately trying to gauge his sincerity, her heart beginning to pound rapidly in her chest. "You're drunk," she said finally, painfully aware that his intoxication was, in all likelihood, the motivation behind his compliment. _Either that or he's just acting a role...whatever...it's all a pretence, anyway_….

He sighed. "I am not. I'm on duty, remember?"

"That's a technicality, it's…."

"Why can't you just accept the compliment, Grace?"

"Because, I…." She faltered, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, his intense dark eyes boring into her, making her stomach churn.

"Because, what?" He prompted, frustrated by her apparent lack of trust in his honesty.

_Because it's you_…, she thought, with a jolt. _Because you've never noticed my appearance before, not in ten years of knowing each other...Because I know it's all a lie_….Outwardly, she said, "Because...I...I'm the wrong side of sixty, Peter. Because I've had three children and it shows…."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Hardly."

"Because I'm a grandmother, for God's sake, and I…."

"What's your point, Grace? You think all of those things are some kind of barrier to attractiveness?" He shook his head, cutting her off abruptly as she took a breath to reply, noting the surprise in her sapphire eyes at his words. "Just accept the compliment, would you?"

"I just don't feel…."

"Accept it."

Sighing in defeat, she allowed herself a small smile, a lightness spreading through her body at the insistence in his tone. _God, does he really mean it, then? He finds me attractive? Or is he just acting a part like he's been doing for days? Oh God, I'm too old for all this_….

"Thank you," she said finally, her breath catching in her chest at the warmth pervading his expressive dark eyes.

"Good." He paused fractionally. "Now how about we really give that tosser something to get riled about?"

She blinked in confusion. "What did you have in mind?"

Boyd's obsidian eyes were flickering with intensity as he looked at her. "You know I asked you to trust me?"

"Yes…," she replied slowly, a slight frown marring her features at his words.

"Then...trust me, Grace."

He took an infinitesimal step towards her until their bodies were almost flush together, his heart beginning to pound with anticipation as his face inched gradually towards hers, gratification filling him as he noted the hitch in her breathing, the shocked expression in her eyes as she registered his intention.

"Peter…," she managed huskily, her voice thick in her throat, her pulse thundering wildly, almost painfully, in her chest.

"Just trust me, all right?" he murmured gently, taking a subtle breath to inhale the scent of her, indulgently allowing it to fill every pore of his skin, to reverberate about his senses as his palm traced sensuous circles ever lower at the base of her spine.

Silently she nodded, suppressing an urge to groan as he closed the last, minute gap between them, brushing his lips gently across hers, the merest caress of his mouth before he pulled back to look at her, his dark eyes searching her blue ones. Grace could barely breathe as he surveyed her, as his hands moved to trace the slender outline of her waist, the rounded softness of her hips, and she felt unmistakable electric tendrils of arousal beginning to snake deep into her abdomen.

Wordlessly, he leant forward to kiss her again, his lips lingering on hers for a longer time, caressing the fullness of her lower vermilion with an almost agonisingly gentle dexterity, and Grace had to fight an overwhelming instinct to open her mouth against him, to trace his tongue with her own, to moan her pleasure into his body. Momentarily, she stepped backwards to break the kiss, desperate to ignore the ache pervading insistently between her thighs, the thundering of her heart against her rib cage. Once she could trust herself to speak coherently, Grace took a shaky breath, feeling the air rattle noisily through her bones. "What on earth was that for?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding strained, even to her own ears, her lips still tingling from the imprint of his. _Oh my God, was it even real?_

Boyd shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance despite the teasing glint he was aware was evident in his eyes, the electricity pulsing through his veins. "What? Is a man not allowed to kiss his wife when he's dancing with her, then, Grace?"

She swallowed hard, willing her heart rate to calm, the agony in her chest almost overwhelming as she phrased her next question though she tried to keep her tone light. "And what would said man's girlfriend have to say, do you think?"

He grinned widely to cover the twisting of his stomach at her words, deliberately injecting casual notes into his voice. "It's _work, _for God's sake."

"Right."

The unbridled pain lancing thorough her voice, the hurt infusing her eyes sobered him instantly and he sighed, his features settling into a mask of sincerity. "It's not an issue, Grace."

"If you say so."

_I should tell her, I should just tell her_…."It's fine."

She looked at him for a brief moment, her cerulean eyes searching his charcoal ones, desperately trying to read him, before she forced a smile, resolutely pushing away the anguish that had wrapped itself about her heart despite the heated arousal still infusing her bloodstream. "Well...whatever...it looks like it worked," she murmured softly, her gaze falling on the lone figure standing some feet behind Boyd's back, his shoulders hunched darkly, his slender features creased in a brooding frown, visible despite the soft lighting of the room.

"Is he watching, then?" Boyd asked quietly, resisting the urge to turn around and look for himself.

"He is...and he doesn't look happy, Peter. He's got a face like thunder."

"So now probably wouldn't be a good time to go over there and tell him we're off to bed?"

She gave a small smile, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards slightly with amusement. "I think a subtle exit would be better, don't you?"

"I thought we were goading him, Grace…."

"Yes but there's a limit, Peter. We've probably done enough for one night."

Boyd blew out his breath noisily. "I don't want to take my eyes off the bastard for a minute…."

"Well, that's what the surveillance is for. We could always go back to the room and watch him remotely."

"While he thinks we're…."

"Exactly."

"All right."

"Besides, I could do with a sit down. These bloody shoes are absolutely killing me."

He laughed loudly at her words, turning slightly to slip an arm about her waist, surprise filling him as he realised that the action had become entirely natural on both their parts, Grace allowing her body to mould comfortably to his as he squeezed her closer and began the slow walk towards the ballroom door.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language and adult insinuations.

**A/N: **Well...I've been completely overwhelmed by the feedback from this fic so far, so thank you all for sticking with it and for being so kind in your reviews, I really do appreciate the support. Hope this chapter won't disappoint :)

* * *

Grace yawned quietly as she glanced at the clock on the wall, blinking her eyelids rapidly in a desperate bid to stay awake. They had been monitoring Britten's movements continuously for three hours now, ever since they had arrived back in their suite, had watched him sulk briefly before beginning to converse with other people, even dancing with one or two women. Presently, he was seated in the plush lounge area annexed to the ballroom, his posture relaxed as he engaged in what appeared to be an intimate conversation with a young blond woman, a brandy glass in his hand, his head thrown back with laughter. Grace allowed her gaze to shift from the computer screen and towards Boyd, who was seated at the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration, his shoulders hunched as he surveyed the transmitted scene. She sighed softly as she drank him in, his features half hidden in shadow, the intense focus ingrained in his posture, and she felt her chest flood with warmth as memories of his lips grazing hers flashed suddenly through her mind. _God, I can't do this to myself_, she thought with anguish, the motivation behind his actions instantly dousing the rising heat of her recall. _It's work....It's just work and that's all it'll ever be to him....I could've been anybody tonight and he would have done the same thing...._Swallowing hard, she forced the raw ball in her stomach towards the base of her spine and took a breath to address him.

"You'll get square eyes," she said softly, unable to prevent another yawn stretching enthusiastically in her throat despite the protests of her mind, her body burrowing deeper of its own accord beneath the faux fur blanket swathing her limbs.

Boyd blinked and looked briefly towards her before returning his attention to the screen. "You should go to bed," he said gruffly, evident exhaustion wrapping itself about his tone, one hand straying to his neck in an attempt to relieve the tension coiled in his muscles.

"I thought we were going to work in shifts throughout the night...?"

"Change of plan."

She sighed. "Boyd...."

"What?"

"You're obviously exhausted. What do you think you can possibly achieve by...?"

"Grace, please." He sighed loudly, fractiously, and half-turned in his seat to face her. "I don't want to argue about this. I'm trying to spare you a long and tedious night of surveillance so don't throw it back in my face, all right? Just go to bed."

Grace held up a palm in defeat, too weary, both physically and emotionally, to protest further despite the slight sting of his words, and she rose gradually from her curled position on the couch, padding softly towards the bathroom. She reappeared moments later, her skin tingling pleasantly from her moisturiser, and began walking slowly towards the bed on the other side of the room, slipping gratefully beneath the silken covers and allowing them to envelope her in a comfortable cocoon of gold and crimson. "Boyd?" she called gently as she settled herself but before sleep could devour her completely, "You _will_ wake me, won't you? If anything happens, I mean."

He looked at her incredulously across the room, his eyebrows curving upwards. "You're not serious."

"Of course I'm serious. I don't want you to go charging after him on your own like a bloody...."

"Well, who else is there, Grace? Do you really want me to hesitate if Britten grabs a girl and drags her off somewhere?"

"You call for back-up. Promise me that's what you'll do."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"He could be dangerous, Boyd...."

"And I'm not a wet-behind-the-ears PC, Grace. I'll be fine." He paused, his features softening as he noted the anxious frown creasing her brow. "You don't have to worry about me, you know...."

"Now who's being ridiculous...?"

"....And, besides, I'm not wholly convinced anything's going to happen. I think Britten's only got eyes for you."

She groaned at his words, allowing her head to fall back against the softness of the pillows. "Lucky old me, eh?"

He smiled fondly before his eyes flickered back towards the blinking equipment amassed on the desk. "Good night, Grace."

"Night." She mumbled in reply, her aching muscles relaxing gradually as siren tendrils of oblivion seeped deeply into her consciousness.

* * *

Boyd sighed loudly into the inky blackness of the quiet room, his eyes wide and unblinking, his mind whirring noisily inside his skull despite the lateness of the hour, and he shifted restlessly beneath the soft blanket covering his body, trying in vain to arrange his limbs into a more comfortable position on the couch. He winced momentarily as lightning bolts of pain lanced through his lower back, his muscles protesting angrily against the cushions of his makeshift bed, and he blew out a slow breath, determined to control the spasms jolting enthusiastically towards his spine. He groaned almost instantly at the apparent futility of his efforts, and he sat up, planting his feet onto the floor and rising before folding himself almost in half, his hands resting on his thighs, revelling in the lengthening sensation across his back, the ache beginning gradually to subside. _Christ, getting old's a terrible thing_, he thought ruefully, _you bloody fall apart piece by piece and, if you're lucky, your mind stays intact just long enough to realise what's happening before you.... _

"Boyd?" Grace's voice, thick and husky with sleep, sounded throatily from across the room and he grimaced into the darkness.

"Sorry, Grace. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You alright?" she asked, her soft tones slick with slumber, her silhouette becoming visible as she began to raise herself up onto her elbows.

"I'm fine, go back to...." he sucked in his breath suddenly, sharply, cutting his sentence abruptly short as a fresh wave of pain seared through his back, and he swore softly beneath his breath, blinking repeatedly as the room became bathed in a diffuse amber light.

Grace retrieved her hand from the lamp switch and sat up further in the bed, her eyebrows knitted in a frown as she took in his crumpled form. "Is it your back?"

He grunted in response, his features contorting with discomfort as his hands moved to massage his muscles, stretching upright to adjust his body weight, an attempt to lessen the load on his lumbar area. "God, I hate being old, Grace," he said, through gritted teeth, "a few nights on a couch and my muscles are shot to pieces."

She smiled sympathetically, guilt streaking her cobalt eyes. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's not your fault. I insisted you take the bed, remember? Although for the life of me, I don't know what I was thinking when I made that ridiculous offer."

Amusement deepened the creases at the corners of her mouth. "I think you were trying to be chivalrous..."

He barked a brief laugh before wincing again. "Join the twenty first century, Grace. I thought you modern women were supposed to spurn chivalry at every opportunity?"

"Are you saying I should have gratefully declined your offer, then?"

"Too bloody right. But hindsight's a bitch."

Grace paused briefly, uncertainty flickering through her chest as an idea began to gradually take shape through the dusky haze of her sleep addled mind. _This could be a huge mistake_, her unconscious warned her darkly, but she pushed the thought away and took a breath to speak. "Boyd...."

He grimaced once more before looking up at her, the sudden hesitancy in her tone catching his attention. "What?"

"Well...," she broke off and sighed, frustrated by her inability to vocalise her idea. "Look, don't take this the wrong way but....wouldn't it make sense if you...?"

"If I, what?" He groaned, shifting his position as another wave of pain overtook him. "Spit it out, Grace, I'm getting rapidly down to my last nerve here."

"Alright." She took a deep, cleansing breath, steeling herself for his inevitable reaction to her forthcoming suggestion. "Why don't you come and get in here with me?"

Boyd's chestnut eyes flew to hers, his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline, shock pervading his chest at her unexpected proposition. "What?" he managed finally, throatily, convinced he had misheard her.

Grace felt a hot flush begin to creep up her neck but she forced herself to persevere with her offer. "It makes sense. Your back won't be able to stand any more nights on the couch and this is a huge bed, there's plenty of space...."

"I don't...."

"It's just practicality, Boyd. It would be nothing more than two colleagues sharing a space to rest in, that's all."

He looked at her intensely, unsure of the wisdom of her proposal but suddenly finding he wanted nothing more than to accept it, his aching body craving the prospect of a comfortable bed, his weary muscles eagerly anticipating the feel of the mattress, the sensation of the silken sheets against his skin . _Nothing to do with the fact that she's between those sheets, of course.... _He pushed the rogue thought firmly away and addressed her. "Are you sure, Grace?"

She gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

His expression mirrored hers as he caught the sparkle flickering lightly in her sapphire eyes. "Although I suppose you're reserving the right to kick me out again at any time and for any reason?"

Her smile widened, relief pulsing through her body at his ready acceptance. "Of course."

"And what about squatter's rights...?" He continued teasingly, even as he began to cross the room towards her, lifting the covers to slide into bed beside her, his muscles singing with pleasure as his body sank instantly into the soft envelopment, a quiet moan escaping his lips, his dark eyes falling closed with rapture.

Grace turned onto her side to face him, electricity humming unexpectedly through her bloodstream, butterflies tickling her stomach as she watched him settle himself beneath the sheets, the reality of his presence in the bed beside her causing her pulse to quicken against her skin. "Better?" she asked after several moments had passed, amusement colouring her tones at his blissful expression.

Boyd could only manage another deep groan in reply, the sound resonating through the breadth of his chest and Grace laughed softly, before stretching up to turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness once more.

"Christ, I may never get out." he said eventually, his voice rich with relaxation, his body shifting instinctively towards hers as he sought a satisfactory position for his limbs. "No wonder you've looked so rested these past couple of days, Grace."

"Should I take that to mean I don't always, then?"

He groaned once more, this time in theatrical mock frustration. "Oh, God, thirty seconds we've been sharing a bed and you're already sounding like a bloody woman...."

She chuckled softly into the darkness. "Hmm."

"....And before you say anything else, I _know_ you're a woman, Grace, I'm not completely blind or moronic, come to that. You know what I meant."

"Do I?"

"Don't be so obtuse. It's the middle of the night, for God's sake, I'm half asleep."

"Meaning I should cut you some slack?"

"Yeah."

She laughed, relenting easily. "Alright. Sleep well, Boyd."

"I plan to." He yawned loudly, exhaustion pervading every nerve of his body. "Night, Grace."

He rolled over onto his back then, curling one hand beneath his head and allowing his dark eyes to fall slowly closed, warm contentment filling his chest as he listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing beside him. Several minutes later, as he began gradually to relax, a nagging concern jolted him suddenly back to alertness and he sighed, blinking once more into the darkness as guilt prickled distastefully at the edges of his consciousness. _What if I've fucked this up? What if something...?_

"Grace?" he ventured quietly, an intense need for reassurance filling him as anxiety pulled sharply at his stomach.

"Hmm?" the profiler mumbled softly, reluctantly, as the sound of his voice pulled her firmly back from the alluring precipice of unconsciousness once more.

"Did we....earlier tonight....did we....do the wrong thing, do you think?"

Grace felt her stomach tighten instantly in reaction to his words, waves of nausea rolling towards her throat and she took a deep breath. _He's going to say how much he regrets it, how it meant nothing, how he...._ "I don't....I just followed your lead, Boyd. I thought that's what we were...?"

He caught her meaning instantly and was suddenly floored by the memory of her mouth, the imprint of her velvet lips against his, the feel of her sensuous curves beneath his hands. _Shit...._ He shifted uncomfortably, surprised to find his body beginning to react of its own accord as the pleasant remembrance flooded his senses. "God, no, Grace, I don't mean that...."

"Well, what, then?"

"I just meant, did we do the wrong thing in leaving him when we did? Leaving him to potentially attack someone else."

She sighed softly, guilty relief filling her chest at his revelation. "You've been watching him all night, Boyd. You've barely taken your eyes off that computer monitor."

"I'm not watching him now, though, am I?"

"Because you saw him go back to his room, presumably. Alone."

"He could have come back out, gone back to the bar...."

"You can't do this to yourself...."

"I'm being negligent in my duties as a Police Officer, Grace. If he attacks someone when I should have been watching, I don't...."

"It wouldn't be your fault," she said firmly. "If Dyson had wanted him watched round the clock she should have assigned more officers for surveillance, it's as simple as that. For God's sake, you're not super human, Boyd, you have to sleep _some_ time."

"I don't think that'd make me feel any better if something happens, Grace."

"Well, that's because you've got a conscience. This kind of second-guessing yourself, it's....it's normal in this sort of situation, Boyd...."

"Why do I sense a 'but' at the end of that sentence?"

"....But you've got to be realistic about what you, as one human being, can achieve in terms of protecting someone against an attack that may not even happen in actuality."

He sighed noisily. "So, what you're really saying is I should just let it go?"

"I know it's not easy."

"It's not, Grace. Not easy at all."

The melancholic edge to his voice brought a lump of emotion to her throat and she was unable to stop herself from reaching across to him, her hand connecting gently with his upper chest, the cotton of his t-shirt soft beneath her palm. "I know what you're thinking, Boyd...."

He gave a cold, brief laugh. "You adding that to your C.V, then?"

"....and the same thing applies. You were _not_ responsible for Luke's death just because you weren't with him twenty four, seven. Alright?"

"Grace...." His voice was pained, her name leaving his body in almost a sob.

"You've got to start believing it."

"Christ, I'm still a _long_ way from believing it. I'm not sure I ever will."

"Because the grief is still so raw. It'll take time, Boyd. You just have to be patient with yourself."

He sighed shakily. "Sometimes, the guilt, it's so strong....I can't even....function. It's all I can do to get out of bed in the morning."

"I know," she replied softly, her palm tracing soothing circles across his chest, "But the point is that you _are_ getting out of bed in the morning. You're coping, despite the immensity of the trauma you've suffered...."

"Barely coping, Grace."

"But coping, all the same. And, in time, as you start to heal, you'll come to recognise that you were in no way responsible for what happened to Luke, you...."

"I was a fucking terrible father. If I'm not responsible for him, then who is?"

"Boyd, he was twenty four years old. I'm not saying that the way you were when he was a child didn't affect him, we all do that to our kids, whether knowingly or not, but...."

"I should have been there, Grace...."

"....He was an _adult_. You can't be responsible for the feelings and behaviour of another adult, whether or not they're your child."

"But I set him on that path. If I'd been different when he was kid, if I'd been around more, if I hadn't had such a fucking awful marriage to his mother...." he broke off and sighed again, his chest heaving beneath her hand as he struggled to contain his despair. "He'd still be alive."

"You don't know that."

"I just....I should have been able to help him, Grace."

"You tried," her voice was barely a whisper, empathy etched into her tones, "he didn't want it, Boyd. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

"I should have tried harder."

She sighed softly. "Are we going down the super human route again?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning....that the self-destructive state of mind Luke was in.....unless he _allowed_ someone to help him, nothing anyone could have done would have made any difference."

"Still, I...."

"Feeling guilty comes naturally to us as parents, remember, whether or not our children are still alive." she paused, a wave of sadness threatening to crush her chest as she pondered her next sentence. "There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about the child that I lost but....the guilt has lessened, Boyd. And I have far more reason to feel guilty over that child's death than you ever do over Luke's."

He reached up a hand to squeeze hers as it lay against his chest. "That was different, Grace. You were young, you'd been let down...."

"I wasn't _that_ young. I just couldn't see any other way out after Harry....," she broke off, swallowing hard, willing away the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "My point is that, yes, you will probably always feel guilt about Luke but....hopefully, over time, as the grief starts to heal, those feelings of guilt will begin to fade. And you'll just learn how to live with it instead of letting it consume you."

"Words of the wise?"

She laughed briefly yet mirthlessly. "Just someone who's been there. Albeit in very different circumstances but, still."

He was quiet for a few moments in the darkness, then, allowing the painful empathy and understanding in her voice to wash over him, feeling undeniably comforted by the connection of their bodies, her fingers warm and relaxed against his. Momentarily, he raised the back of her hand to his mouth, murmuring his thanks and brushing a gentle kiss across her subtly perfumed skin before turning her palm upwards to graze his lips atop the delicate veins of her wrist, resisting a powerful urge to lap his tongue against her pulse point. _God, I want to taste you everywhere....._

"You're welcome," she said tenderly, before retrieving her hand from his, trying to ignore the electric tingling of her skin from his kiss, the thudding of her heart as she imagined his lips continuing their intimate exploration of her body. "Now, let's get some sleep, eh? We've had a long day."

"Yeah. Night, Grace."

He rolled away from her onto his side then, the perpetual anguish in his chest over his son gradually beginning to subside to a dull ache as he mulled over her recent words in his memory. _God, how do you do that, Grace? How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?_ He smiled slightly into the darkness as he pondered the question, warm sentimentality spreading throughout his body, her gentle face filling his mind. The recall of her hand against his chest, her skin against his mouth caused his smile to retreat suddenly, his senses flooding with an altogether more fundamental instinct to her proximity, and he sighed softly as his body began to betray him, arousal pulsing steadily southwards towards his groin. _It's like being a teenager again_, he thought irritably, _except I'm fifty six years old, for fuck's sake....and....it's __**Grace**__, someone I've known for years, someone I've never really thought about like that before....but who I can't seem to stop thinking about now....Oh, God, I'm so hard, I'm in pain...._He sighed again, the air rattling noisily through his bones as he willed the return of equilibrium to his bloodstream, of calm to his body. Momentarily, he became aware of the futility of his efforts and he groaned quietly into the darkness with frustration. It was going to be a long night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **Okay, this chapter may be the last light-hearted one for a while as things are definitely going to move towards the dark side as the story progresses....you have been warned!! Just a note on acronyms used here – LCN stands for 'Low Copy Number', a relatively new technique used to get a DNA profile from a very small number of cells and, just in case anyone is unfamiliar with the British justice system, CPS stands for 'Crown Prosecution Service', basically the organisation who bring prosecutions against people in court once the Police have built their case.

* * *

A quiet bleeping sound from the far side of the room roused Boyd reluctantly from the depths of a peaceful sleep and he blinked as his mind rose gradually to alertness, frowning in confusion as he attempted to locate the source of the noise that had so abruptly disturbed his rest. He groaned softly as realisation floated in waves through his consciousness and he sat up slowly, embarrassment curling through his stomach as he withdrew the arm that had somehow managed to envelope the sleeping woman beside him without his knowledge. Grace began to stir sluggishly as he rose from the bed, squinting as he turned on the lamp, her sapphire eyes blinking rapidly, puzzlement etched into her barely conscious features.

"What...?" she started drowsily as he crossed the room towards the location of the insistent electronic noise, but he cut her off almost instantly.

"Bloody videophone," he mumbled irritably, reaching the laptop and pressing the appropriate key in annoyance before slumping into the chair opposite the monitor. Spencer's head and torso appeared instantly on the screen, his chin freshly shaven, his attire crisp and stylish.

"Morning, boss, " he said brightly, grinning widely as he took in Boyd's dishevelled form, "Rough night?"

"This had better be good, Spence," the older man replied tetchily, appraising his colleague through narrowed eyes and yawning.

"Just checking in," the DI said, "Eve wants to ask you something but she's finishing up in the lab so I thought I'd...."

"For God's sake, man, it's the middle of the bloody night...." Boyd groaned, running a hand across his face in a desperate bid to force his weary body to alertness.

"It's just after seven, Boyd." Spencer's dark eyes were shining. "What's the matter? Can't take the pace?"

"Not when I've been up half the night doing surveillance."

"Alone?"

"No, Spence, with the large and well-equipped team Dyson's assigned to me." He blew out a breath. "Jesus Christ."

The younger man studiously ignored his boss' ill-humoured sarcasm, resisting the urge to roll his eyes before continuing steadily, "Grace alright?"

"She's fine."

"You getting anywhere with Britten yet?"

Boyd shrugged. "He's certainly starting to show his true colours. I'm hoping this meeting he wants me to go to will be the key to it all....Which reminds me, Spence, I need you to get onto Dyson, organise some back-up for me."

"Will do. Not sure I fancy your chances of getting it, though. You know how tight the budgets are at the moment."

"I don't give a shit about that. We're talking about a potentially dangerous rapist here, not to mention a criminal gang. It doesn't come much more high profile than that for her precious crime figures or her budget reviews."

Spence held up his hands. "I'm just saying, don't shoot the messenger if she turns you down, that's all."

"Would I ever?"

The younger man grinned. "It's been known to happen, yeah."

Boyd took another breath to reply but was interrupted but the arrival of Eve behind Spence's shoulder, her chestnut hair secured firmly back from her face in a ponytail, her hazel eyes shining. "Morning," she said airily, amusement dancing across her face as she observed the dark circles beneath her boss' eyes, the weariness in his posture.

"That's a point of view," Boyd grumbled in reply, folding his arms over his chest and trying not to glare at the forensic scientist as the smile creasing her eyes broadened rapidly across her face. "What have you got for me?"

Eve took a breath to speak. "Well, it's taken a while and a lot of intensive computer processing but....I finally have a DNA profile for you from the samples left at the scene by the rapist twenty years ago and from the most current victim."

Boyd raised his eyebrows, feeling his dark mood beginning gradually to lift. "That's great...."

"Yeah. I wasn't sure whether it would work, I mean, obviously most of the samples are old, but...," she shrugged her slender shoulders, "I guess we got lucky."

"So, that means that all the semen samples were definitely from the same person, then?"

Eve frowned, confusion flickering across her brow. "No doubt about it. Why's that even an issue?"

Boyd shrugged. "Just something Grace has been thinking about, the possibility of more than one person being involved."

"Hmm. Well, even if that's true, only one gentleman was kind enough to leave his deposits for us to find, so...."

"Eloquently put, Dr. Lockhart."

"Ox-bridge graduate, Boyd. Comes with the bit of paper."

He smiled. "So, what's next, then? You need a sample of Britten's DNA for comparison?"

"Yep. Shouldn't think he'll submit voluntarily to giving one, though, do you?"

Boyd ran a hand across his goatee thoughtfully, an idea beginning to take shape at the edges of his mind. "It might not be an issue actually...."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "It'll be a _massive_ issue if this ever goes to court, Boyd. As well you know."

"We'll worry about it later, Spence. We've got to get enough to arrest the bastard first."

The younger man held up his palms and sighed. "We'll get a bollocking from the CPS but, fine. On your head be it."

"Isn't it always, Spence? Isn't it bloody always?"

The DI grinned. "Ah, the privileges of rank, eh?"

"What did you have in mind, Boyd?" Eve interrupted before the two men could settle into their good-natured argument, her hand coming to rest lightly on her colleague's shoulder for a brief moment before returning her attention to her boss.

Boyd breathed in deeply. "Okay, I realise this might only work if you use LCN and even then, it might be pushing it...."

"Go on."

"But you might be able to get a sample of his sweat from the dress Grace was wearing last night."

Spencer's expression darkened suddenly at his boss' words, his rugged features creasing in a concerned frown. "I hope you're joking," he said, seriously.

Boyd held up a placating hand. "Relax, Spence. He just danced with her."

"So, sweat from his palms and fingertips might still be present in the fabric of the dress," Eve completed his unspoken sentence with a surprised smile. "That's good thinking, Boyd."

"That's what they pay me for," he replied wearily, although his chestnut eyes were shining.

"Of course, I'll need to eliminate Grace's DNA before I can do anything...."

"It should be on file. You'll also need mine, potentially."

Eve raised a curious eyebrow at his revelation. "Oh?"

"It's also on file. Alright?" He replied steadily, studiously ignoring the mischievous undertone to her monosyllabic question.

The scientist smiled widely, her hazel eyes sparkling as her intelligent mind raced. "Fine. I'll have one of my lab techs come and pick up the dress from you."

"Good. Now, was there anything else from either of you or can I go back to bed?"

Spence grinned. "Nothing from me, boss, you get back to your beauty sleep. I'll let you know what Dyson says about back-up for the Harlequin."

"Great. Eve?"

Eve shook her head, her large silver earrings swaying as she did so. "I'll be in touch as soon as I've got anything more to report on the DNA."

"Yeah, well, I'm not holding my breath on that score."

"Of course keeping in mind that a negative result can be just as enlightening as a positive one?"

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Of course. All these years of bloody forensic support, I think I'm well-trained in the scientific process by now, don't you?"

She grinned. "I wouldn't go quite that far, Boyd. You still need reminding from time to time."

"I consider myself duly reminded, then. Speak to you both later." He disconnected the line abruptly at that and Spence sat back in his chair before the blank monitor, raising his eyebrows questioningly towards his colleague at her husky chuckle.

"What?" he asked, frowning.

Eve shook her head, gesturing towards the screen. "It's just....curiouser and curiouser."

"What is?"

"His oblique answer to my question about why his DNA might be on Grace's dress...."

Spence grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Don't even go there. It's probably for the same reason as Britten's is, because they had a dance and he...."

"Boyd dancing, Spence? Really?"

The DI shrugged. "It's not impossible in the right circumstances, is it? And, besides, he's undercover, it's kind of in the job description to act out of character."

The scientist looked sceptical and raised her eyebrows. "Hmm. That wasn't the only curious thing about the conversation, though."

Spence groaned. "Oh, Christ. Do I want to hear this?"

"Did you notice the bed behind Boyd when he was sat at the desk?"

"What about it? Apart from the fact that there was someone in it who, I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark here, and say was Grace?"

"Yeah. Anything else?"

He sighed. "If I say 'no' you're going to give me a hard time about my poorly honed detective skills, aren't you? I'll never hear the end of it."

She grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He rolled his charcoal eyes. "Go on, then. Before I change my mind."

"Well....from a strictly observational standpoint, of course...."

"Eve."

"The bedclothes were extremely ruffled. I'd put money on the fact that there was more than one person in the bed until about ten seconds before Boyd appeared on your computer screen, all bright and breezy."

Spence made a face as he acknowledged her words and he stood up rapidly. "Yep, I was right. I definitely didn't wanna hear that."

"I'm not necessarily drawing any conclusions from that observation, you understand...."

"Nah, you're just shit-stirring."

"About what?" Stella appeared at the door to the meeting room then, scarlet coat wrapped tightly about her petite frame, cardboard coffee cup held lightly in her fingers, and she deposited her large handbag onto her desk before walking towards her colleagues, her delicate features drawn in question.

Spence blew out a noisy breath. "Eve's trying to corrupt my sensibilities."

The Frenchwoman laughed, before taking a sip from the steaming cup in her hand. "You can't corrupt something that isn't there in the first place, Spence."

"Well, she's trying to give me nightmares, then, at the very least."

"What?"

"She thinks Boyd and Grace are shagging."

The scientist laughed loudly as Stella choked suddenly on her coffee, the throaty chuckle reverberating about the walls of the office. "Spence, I did _not_ use the word 'shagging'. You're the one who made the leap, I simply shared my observation with you, that's all."

"What observation?" Stella asked, sighing softly in annoyance as she wiped the remnants of her spluttered beverage from the front of her coat.

"I merely pointed out that it looked like two people had spent the night in the bed. I never said that it was _Boyd_ who was in there with Grace, Spence made that connection all by his good self."

"Oh, come on, Eve, you're the one who planted the seed, and besides, who the hell else would it be who...?" He rolled his eyes and held up a hand, stopping mid-flow as Eve started to react to his words, her eyes shining teasingly. "And please, _please_ don't start anything about Boyd and seed-planting, I don't think my mind can handle it."

Eve raised her palms towards him, her shoulders shaking as her laugher increased, Stella giggling lightly at her side. "In the first place, Spence, I think you need a re-cap of female physiology when it reaches a certain age. Grace is most definitely _not_ interested in his ability to plant seed...."

"Jesus Christ, this is just getting worse and worse...!"

"...and, in the second place, you're doing it again. You're taking what I'm saying, or _not_ saying, and drawing your own racy conclusions."

"And you're getting a kick out of traumatising me."

She shook her head, grinning. "Traumatising you?"

"Taking my thinking down a path it really, _really_ doesn't wanna go."

"Oh no, not guilty, Your Honour. Your thinking went down that path all by itself. There's probably some Freudian thing or other going on there...."

"Or some latent issue you've got over sex." Stella added mischievously, moving swiftly to her left as Spence made to bat her arm with a file from his desk.

"Go on, piss off, the pair of you," he grumbled as the women continued to laugh, "I've got to ring Dyson and I don't want you two cackling in the background like a couple of bloody hyenas."

"Fine," Eve said, smiling as she began to make her way towards her lab, "just giving you food for thought, as always, Spence...."

"See you later," he replied mock sternly, turning back to the files on his desk and flipping open his organiser to locate the number for his ACC.

"Give me a buzz when Holly gets back with Grace's dress, would you?" The scientist said, suddenly business-like as she reached the double doors to her domain. "I'll send her over there right now so she shouldn't be long."

"Yep, will do," he answered distractedly, picking up the handset and beginning to dial Dyson's office number.

Stella moved towards her own desk and began to unbutton her coat, her auburn head tilted to one side as she considered her thoughts. "I think it's sweet, you know," she mused eventually, seamlessly continuing the previous line of conversation and smiling brightly at Spence as he rolled his eyes in her direction. "They're very well-suited in lots of ways...."

The DI held his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and glared at her. "Don't you bloody start, Stella. Any more mental pictures and I'll need therapy."

"I'm just saying...."

"Well, don't, alright?" He snapped sharply, his patience at her gentle teasing vanishing abruptly, before he softened once more, noting the slight flinch of her body at his tone. "Look, it's none of our business, at the end of the day, right? They can shag till their hearts' content but I, for one, do _not _want to know about it and I definitely don't want to think about it. Okay?"

Stella raised her palm in surrender, though there was still a playful glint in her amber eyes. "Yes, sir. Okay."

"Good. Now why don't you...?" His attention was drawn suddenly back to the disembodied person on the other end of the telephone line. "Yes, I'm holding for ACC Dyson...."

The DC gestured questioningly towards her files and Spence caught her eye, nodding rapidly as he began his conversation with their boss, leaving Stella to take a seat behind her desk, a cloud of seriousness enveloping her shoulders as she settled to the task at hand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **With gracious thanks to **shadowsamurai83** for the beta – much appreciated, thanks, hun! :)

* * *

Boyd blew out an irritated breath as he hung up the phone, sinking heavily onto a chair as his agile mind raced, the conversation he had just been a party to scrolling incessantly behind his eyelids as he tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the tension that had accumulated suddenly, rapidly across his shoulders. From the other side of the room, Grace raised her eyebrows at him questioningly, curiosity streaking the depths of her cerulean eyes.

"Britten?" she asked softly, acknowledging the greying pallor of his skin, the dark shadows beneath his eyes with a slight frown.

Boyd sighed heavily. "Was it that obvious?"

She gave him a slight smile. "Well, it was either him or Dyson. No one else seems able to piss you off to the same extent...."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Well, not at the moment, anyway."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his features. "True enough."

"What did he want?"

Boyd gave another deep sigh. "To move the meeting forward...."

"To when?"

"To the day after tomorrow."

Grace felt her eyebrows quirk upwards with surprise. "Did he say why?"

Boyd gestured with his hands, rising from his seat to pace before her, suddenly needing a physical outlet for his nervous energy. "Something to do with getting hold of his contacts sooner than he expected to, I don't know."

She shrugged. "That doesn't sound too unreasonable...."

"Grace...."

"He met someone today, didn't he? I mean, you followed him for hours....it's not inconceivable that the man you saw him with was one of these 'contacts' he's always talking about."

Boyd glared at her, irritation rising in his chest. "Why are you trying to play devil's advocate?"

She held up her palms towards him in a placating gesture. "I'm not. Just making a point, that's all."

"Even if he's telling the truth, what difference does it make? The man he was with is either a co-conspirator in sexual assault or a co-conspirator in fraud, or quite possibly both...."

"We don't know that...."

"…And suddenly Britten doesn't want to delay any more, wants to move the meeting forwards. What does that say to you? Because I can tell you exactly what it says to me...."

She cut across him abruptly before he could continue speaking over her. "Well, assuming we haven't been barking up the wrong tree for the entire length of this investigation...."

He groaned. "Grace, for God's sake, just for once, could you not be so bloody tempered? We're _way_ beyond the point of assumption and speculation here...."

"It's _all_ assumption and speculation until we either get hard evidence or Britten confesses, Boyd. You know that as well as I do."

"Well, indulge me, then, come _on_...."

"I do. More frequently than I probably should."

He threw up his hands in frustration as he continued to pace, ignoring the glimmer of a smile playing across her features. "You're driving me crazy, Grace, you know that? You're driving me bloody crazy."

_'In more ways than one, I hope?' _her mind queried mischievously before she could stop it, berating herself instantly as she felt her cheeks flush hotly at the unbidden thought. "Alright," she said momentarily, adjusting her position in her chair as she settled herself back to equilibrium. "Psychologically speaking, it could be that he's getting desperate...."

"Sexually?"

"Maybe. Or, if we're wrong about that but right about the fraud, then, financially."

Boyd sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes, squeezing his fingertips together as he tried to banish his exhaustion. "Either which way, I don't like it, Grace."

"There's nothing we can do. We're too far down the line, Boyd, we just need to do what he says and...."

"And hope that Dyson has enough sense to provide adequate back-up in case it all goes pear-shaped?"

Grace held his gaze steadily. "You're not holding your breath, then?"

"It's all about money, Grace, budgets, overtime....the whole of the bloody Met is run by accountants these days." He shrugged. "Although the bitter and twisted side of me thinks it's got more to do with Dyson not giving a shit about our safety than any concerns she's got over pleasing the bean counters."

Grace frowned. "Come on. That's emotive nonsense, Boyd, and you know it."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by her use of language. "Coming from you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're the one who's always looking for people's psychological motivations, why they do what they do, and all that crap."

She bristled visibly. "_Crap_...?"

He ignored the suddenly hardened edge to her voice and continued blithely. "So, I'm just saying, Dyson's motivation comes from the fact that she doesn't like me, she doesn't like the existence of a Cold Case Unit, she'd rather listen to rumour and insinuation than...."

"About what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Grace. Use your imagination, for Christ's sake."

"I stopped paying attention to the inter-departmental grapevine years ago, Boyd."

"Okay." He blew out a noisy breath and held up his hands towards her. "Okay. Putting it bluntly?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there any _other _way with you?"

He looked at her steadily, despite the sudden acceleration of his heart rate. "Dyson thinks I've spent the whole of my professional life shagging my way around the Met....and that you're no exception to my list of conquests. Alright?"

Grace felt her mouth fall open, the unexpectedness of his revelation causing shock waves to ripple through her chest, her mind reeling as she struggled to absorb the impact of his words. "You're joking," she managed finally, clearing her throat to assuage the hoarseness which had threatened to wrap itself around her vocal chords.

"No."

"But...unsubstantiated rumours aside...she's the one who assigned us this case in the first place, the one who's reminded us at regular intervals how serious it all is...."

"I know."

"But you still think she'll refuse you back-up? I don't understand...."

"I think she wants me to prove the worthiness, the _value_, monetarily and otherwise, of the Unit by having us solve this on our own with no external help."

"She's still a copper, Boyd. She wants us to solve it for the same reasons as any of us do, surely."

Boyd laughed darkly, without humour. "Don't be so naïve, Grace. A career copper like Dyson, it's all about agendas."

"And less about putting criminals away?" Grace shook her dark blonde head resolutely. "I'm not sure I'm ready to believe she'd put her own agenda above that, Boyd, whatever you might think of her...."

"She assigned us this case because for twenty years, Britten, or whoever, has been getting away with rapes, fraud and fuck knows what else. Putting it mildly, that's embarrassing for a Force as extensive as the Met."

"So...?"

"So, if we solve it, she'll take all the credit, and if we don't...." He broke off and shrugged, gesturing for her to complete his sentence.

"We're the perfect scapegoat," she finished darkly, watching as he nodded his assent.

"Exactly. She wants us to succeed because it'll reflect well on her. But, equally, she wants us to fail so she can claim that we're redundant as a team, that I was too distracted by spending time in a hotel room with you to concentrate properly on my work."

"God." Grace released the breath she was unaware she had been holding. "Damned if we do, damned if we don't."

"Yeah ." He smiled grimly. "Still think I'm being paranoid or pedalling emotional nonsense?"

"I...." She broke off and shook her head, sighing softly. "I just hope you're wrong, Boyd. I really do."

"Well, for once, Grace, so do I."

The laptop on the desk in front of Grace bleeped enthusiastically then, the shrill sound causing both of the room's occupants to jump slightly before Grace recovered smoothly, pressing the appropriate button to connect the incoming caller and forcing a smile to her lips as Spencer's face came instantly into view.

"Hi, Grace," he said, his handsome features a mask of severity as he greeted her. "You alright?"

"Yeah, we're fine...," she answered automatically, frowning as she absorbed the tension in the younger man's body language, the anxiety flickering across his obsidian eyes. "Are _you_ alright, Spence? What's happened?"

"Dyson happened," he replied bitterly, his voice low, barely contained frustration colouring the edges of his words.

"Spence," Boyd barked, pulling up a chair next to Grace's and turning the computer monitor sharply towards him, "talk to me. What did she say?"

The DI blew out his breath hotly. "Categorical refusal of back-up for the Harlequin in any way, shape or form. She gave me some bullshit about back-up teams blowing your cover, said she was only thinking of your safety and the integrity of the operation.... It's a fucking joke."

Boyd took a slow, deep breath, willing his blood to cool before speaking again. "It's been a fucking joke since the start, Spence."

"Yeah, well, to make it even worse, the bitch then effectively offered us a sweetener...."

The older man frowned, exchanging a worried glance with Grace. "How d'you mean?"

"She backtracked and said she _would_ possibly consider assigning some sort of minimal back-up....but only if you could come up with incontrovertible evidence of Britten's involvement, hard proof of a criminal fraud ring or a rape scenario...."

"Because only that would justify the expense of back-up teams, the certainty of arrests and success in terms of prosecutions," Boyd finished bitterly as Spence nodded, feeling his blood pressure beginning to spiral upwards despite his efforts to keep it within his control.

Grace looked aghast. "But what does she think we've been _trying_ to do for the past week, for God's sake? We've done everything she's asked of us and more in the pursuit of this."

The DSI shook his head. "It doesn't matter to her, Grace. The bottom line is that we've been unsuccessful in terms of evidence, it's all been assumption and speculation, as you so rightly pointed out before."

The profiler sighed, trying to organise her thoughts as anxiety began to well in her chest. "Well, I don't know how much more we can do without arresting him on suspicion and questioning him. That's the only thing that might...."

Spence shook his head vigorously, cutting across her. "Any half competent Brief would have a field day, Grace...."

"A psychological assessment of him, then. Tell him we think he might have information relating to the fraud, and then, once he's in, we raise the subject of rape and see how he reacts...."

"Too vague," Boyd said, sharply. "He'd walk within five minutes of an interview like that. And, besides, as soon as we show our hand, our cover's blown completely."

Grace held up a hand, willing calm to her body as she felt her patience drain rapidly away. "I realise that, I'm just trying to...."

"The only way we can get proof is by catching Britten at it on surveillance video. But since he doesn't seem to be interested in anyone other than you, and since you being alone with him is never going to be an option...."

She sighed heavily, her chest shuddering as the breath left her body. "It might be our _only_ option at this point, Boyd...."

Spence leant forward forcefully towards the screen and spoke before his boss could reply. "No way, Grace."

"Hear me out, Spence. We could do it under very controlled conditions with Boyd watching the whole time...."

"Not a chance," the DI said firmly. "I can't believe you're even suggesting it."

"Well, what other choice do we have?" she replied with frustration, forcing a strength into her words that belied the nausea rolling in her stomach. "I'm not made of china, Spence. I'd be fine."

"Feel free to jump in here, boss," Spence growled irritably, turning his attention to the older man as he studiously ignored the profiler's intensely determined gaze. "Any time you feel like it."

Boyd gave a humourless grin. "It'd be redundant, Spence. Grace knows damn well she'd be outnumbered."

Grace blew out a breath. "I'm just trying to come up with a solution that doesn't involve you facing a potentially dangerous gang on your own, Boyd, alright?"

The DSI rolled his dark eyes with annoyance. "Yeah, a solution that instead would see you locked in a room with a rapist! How is that any better?"

"Because it might help us garner _evidence_, evidence that might negate the need for you to go to this meeting at all."

"No, Grace. Watch my lips: no."

"It's what Dyson's wanted all along, isn't it? Me to meet Britten alone?"

"I don't give a shit what she wants."

"She's holding all the cards, Boyd. We either do what she says or you could quite plausibly be walking into a trap alone."

"I'm not going to say it again. You can argue 'til you're blue in the face, it's never going to happen, so stop wasting your breath."

Grace sat back in her chair, sighing softly, fully aware that she was fighting a losing battle. "So, what do you propose, then? What can we do to get something solid on Britten in the next forty eight hours?"

Spence frowned, interjecting his words before Boyd could reply. "Forty eight? I thought...?"

"Yeah, the bastard wants to move the meeting forwards," the DSI said gruffly, running a hand across his face, desperately trying to formulate a plan behind his weary eyes.

"Any idea why?" the younger man asked, his questioning gaze flickering between his colleagues.

Grace shrugged. "Could be desperation, could be he's trying to get the upper hand by giving us less time to prepare...."

"Whatever the reason," Boyd interrupted sharply, "The point is that unless we come up with a way to prove he's involved, I'm going to have no choice but to...."

"I've already suggested a way, Boyd...," Grace said quietly, aware of the probable futility of her statement but unable to stop herself from voicing it.

"…Go to this meeting alone," he finished firmly, steadfastly speaking over the profiler as she tried to raise her point once more. "And hope the evidence we're looking for presents itself."

"Yeah, well, you won't be totally alone," Spence said. "Stella and I will be there watching your every move. Plus I'm gonna call in a few favours from the Flying Squad, see if any of them will be prepared to form a sort of unofficial back-up unit on the QT."

Boyd grinned. "Under Dyson's radar?"

"Exactly."

"Thanks, Spence. I appreciate that."

"I'll be in touch tomorrow as soon as I know anything definite. Eve says she should hopefully have your DNA results by then as well."

"Good. Speak to you then."

With a final smile at Grace, Spence severed the connection, plunging the screen into darkness. Grace turned immediately to her companion, his name forming on her lips, but he held up his hand to silence her.

"Don't, Grace. I told you before, you're wasting your breath."

"I just...."

"I don't want to argue about this...."

"I just want to make sure you're not dismissing outright a potentially workable solution, that's all."

He looked at her steadily. "We already _have_ a potentially workable solution. We just went through it with Spence."

She sighed. "You're not going to back down over this, are you?"

"No. So you might as well accept it and stop trying to be a bloody martyr."

She raised an amused eyebrow. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Honestly?"

He considered her briefly through narrowed eyes before replying, folding his arms across the breadth of his chest. "I think it comes naturally to you, yeah."

"Hmm. And here I thought I was the psychologist, and you just a lowly policeman."

He ignored her as he continued along his line of thought. "It's got something to do with being a woman. And a mother. And...."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. You're genetically programmed at birth for all that bollocks, self-sacrifice, guilt...."

"And this is based on...?"

He groaned loudly. "Long and bitter experience of the fairer sex, Grace. Martyrdom, guilt-trips, emotional blackmail; women have got manipulation down to a fine art."

"Ah. So, this is where you blame all of your failings on your mother, is it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why does it always come back to the parents with you lot? You never advocate personal responsibility or...."

"Tarring all women with the same brush isn't healthy, you know. Or particularly accurate, come to that."

"Yeah, well, I've yet to meet a woman who _doesn't_ do all those things, Grace. It's called extrapolation from a sample."

"That's completely unsound. You can't extrapolate from a relatively tiny sample to a whole fifty percent of the world's population, it's totally unscientific."

"Oh, so you're a scientist now as well as a psychologist, are you?"

She grinned. "Do you really want to get into a discussion on the merits of psychology as a hard science, Boyd? At eleven o'clock at night?"

"You don't think I'd win, then?"

"I'm telling you now that you wouldn't. I've spent the last thirty odd years defending my corner on that score, you'd be absolute child's play in comparison."

He smiled back at her and held up his hands in defeat, enjoying the sight of her flushed cheeks, the darkening hue of her eyes as the passion for her discipline sparked her righteous defences. "Fine. I think I'd better quit while I'm ahead, then."

"You're not ahead, Boyd. Let me just point that out right now."

He groaned. "Christ, you're like a dog with a bone."

"Am I?"

He caught her teasing expression instantly. "I said _like_ a dog, Grace, before you draw any kind of insinuation from...."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it."

"Else I'd be back sleeping on the sofa tonight?"

"Without a doubt."

He laughed, stretching in his chair to feed blood to his exhausted muscles. "Speaking of which, you about ready to hit the sack?"

Grace smiled, revelling in their banter, a welcome relief from the severity of the earlier part of the evening, warmth pervading her soul at his natural presumption of their continued bed-sharing. "Yeah, I think so. There's nothing more we can achieve tonight at any rate, I don't think."

"Hmm. At least now we have a vague plan of action."

"The operative word being 'vague'."

Boyd yawned, rising from his chair to pad towards the bathroom, detouring briefly by the bed to retrieve his t-shirt and sweat pants from beneath his pillow. "Well, it's all we've got, Grace. We just have to hope it's enough."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement of his words, a foreboding sensation returning to settle darkly about her shoulders as she watched him close the bathroom door, before moving towards the bed and divesting herself of her clothes, the lilac cotton of her pyjamas warm and comforting against her skin.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **My thanks once again to **shadowsamurai83** for the beta – your help is always appreciated, hun! :)

* * *

"Are you sure?"

Eve raised her eyebrows incredulously at the query and sat back in her chair, folding her arms across the emerald stripes of her jumper and drumming her sleek jade fingernails against the soft material. "Should I blame sleep deprivation, Boyd, or something else?"

Boyd's deep frown penetrated the computer monitor as he looked remotely at the scientist. "For what?"

"For the sheer lunacy of your question."

The DSI blew out his breath. "You don't need to get so defensive, Eve...."

"I checked the results twice. And bear in mind you're lucky I got a result at all, given the less-than-ideal, and not to mention illegally obtained, sample you provided me with."

Boyd held up his hand. "I get the point. I just need to be absolutely sure on this."

"Well, you can be. DNA doesn't lie, Boyd."

"Right. And science is totally infallible?"

The pathologist grinned at the layers of sarcasm infusing his tone. "Your words, not mine."

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Get Spence to give me a ring when he gets a second, will you?"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Yeah. A bloody one-way ticket to the Bahamas."

Her smile widened, cinnamon eyes twinkling with playful amusement. "For two?"

He looked at her evenly, her insinuation not at all lost on him. "Not a chance."

"Well, I don't know about that...."

"Bye, Eve."

She laughed huskily, his avoidance tactic abundantly clear. "Bye, Boyd. Speak to you later."

Boyd severed the connection then and turned towards Grace, who was eyeing him quizzically whilst neatly folding her clothes into her suitcase.

"The Bahamas?" she asked, her voice laced with curiously, her eyebrows raised as she paused in her task to take a sip of tea from the delicate cup perched on the bedside table next to her.

He sighed. "A fleeting pipe-dream."

"Not planning on abandoning me here, then?"

"As if I would."

The profiler surveyed him through narrowed eyes. "Hmm. What did Eve have to say about the DNA?"

Boyd took a draw from his own tea cup. "There's no match. Britten is definitely _not_ the person responsible for the deposits of semen recovered from the scenes of the rapes."

"But...?"

"Why do you assume there's a 'but'?"

She smiled slightly. "Because you're not stamping around and swearing, for one thing. Because your phone's still in one piece. Because the volume of your voice hasn't risen above my upper threshold for pain. Because...."

"Alright!" He held up his palm to stop her, unable to prevent a grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But....we got lucky with the mitochondrial DNA."

"There's a match?"

"They're brothers; same mother, different father."

Grace blew out a surprised breath. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah. I'd say your theory about him being a voyeur is right on the money."

"Possibly." The profiler looked pensive, her forehead creasing as she frowned. "It's not enough, though, is it?"

"No. You generally can't arrest someone for crimes committed by their relatives."

"So, it's all still circumstantial. Perhaps even coincidental."

He looked at her with astonishment. "You don't believe that."

"In my gut I don't. In my gut I think he's guilty...."

"And let's not forget, it's Britten who lures these women to his brother. It's Britten who charms the knickers off them, quite literally so the two of them can play their sordid little game."

"But proving it beyond reasonable doubt, Boyd...."

The DSI shook his head firmly. "That's the job of the CPS, Grace, it's not our problem. We just have to worry about getting enough evidence to make an initial charge stick."

"That's my point. Even if you end up getting some sort of evidence of fraud from this meeting tomorrow, how the hell are we going to tie it to the rapes? If we're not careful they'll walk, Boyd. Britten will spend a couple of years inside on a fraud charge and then get out, free to pick up his twisted sexual perversions where he left off."

"We can still get the brother. It's water-tight as far as he's concerned."

Grace sighed. "I don't think that would put an end to it. If I'm right about the depths of Britten's depravity, he'd just find someone else to take his brother's place, some other soul he can manipulate into committing rape on his behalf."

"You really think he's orchestrating it all? That the brother is just some kind of....willingly subservient slave?"

"With his own neuroses and psychopathy. Yes, I do."

"You sure?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "You know I can't be, Boyd. Not a hundred percent anyway."

"But...?"

"But, from what I've observed and experienced of Britten first-hand...." She shrugged. "It fits."

Boyd sighed loudly. "Then we need to find some evidence, Grace. Something more than this DNA hit, something that'll stick definitively."

Her sombre expression matched his. "You still think going to this meeting is the answer?"

"I think it has to be. I think I have to try and manipulate him into confessing or at least into letting me into his inner circle."

Grace's eyebrows quirked upwards. "You're going to try and ally yourself to his perversion?"

He grimaced. "I don't think I can pretend I'm okay with rape, Grace. Not under any circumstances."

"Well, what, then?"

Boyd ran a hand across his face distractedly, his mind whirring loudly against the inside of his skull. "Couldn't I just....I don't know....somehow work my alter ego's sexual proclivities into the conversation? Tell him I like rough sex and see how he reacts?"

She shook her head. "Even if it's plausible that you could talk about that in a supposed business meeting....it's much more complicated than just a predilection for rough sex, Boyd. It goes much deeper than that for him...."

"I know, but....it might resonate with him somewhere...." He threw up his hands in defeat as his voice began to trail off. "Christ, I don't know, Grace. I'm making it up as I go along here."

She smiled sympathetically. "We both are. I don't know what to suggest."

"Well, should I _mention_ sex? I mean, if he brings the subject up?"

She shrugged, her slender shoulders rising and falling. "It's not likely, is it? In a business context?"

"He's a sexual predator, Grace...."

"Meaning it's on his mind permanently?"

"Yeah." Boyd rolled his eyes as he caught her expression. "Is this where you make some suitably glib comment about him being no different from any other man in that respect?"

She smiled, her sapphire eyes shining. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Of course not."

"Seriously. From what we've seen of him, he _does_ seem to have an abnormal pre-occupation with sex, it's true."

"So, I should just play along if he brings it up?"

Grace nodded. "If you can get him to trust you with a business deal, it's not impossible that he might open up to you about other aspects of his life...."

"But you're not too confident about it."

"There aren't any guarantees, Boyd. You're just going to have to feel your way through it on instinct as best you can."

He smiled grimly and groaned. "Story of my life, Grace."

She gave him a small smile, an empathetic expression flickering briefly across her face before being replaced by one of firm determination, and she moved towards the chest of drawers, beginning to retrieve their contents. "Come on. Let's get packed up and head across town, eh? I might even buy you a drink if you behave yourself."

"As some lame attempt at taking my mind off it?"

"Well, what do you normally do when you want to take your mind off something?" She caught the lopsided grin that was spreading slowly across his face and rolled her eyes, holding up a hand to silence him preemptively. "Forget it. I don't want to know."

"You _did_ ask."

"I take it back. Now, are you bloody packing, or what?"

With a final, mischievous grin at his companion, Boyd strode purposefully across the room, stooping periodically to pick up his belongings before placing them unceremoniously into his suitcase.

* * *

Grace drew a breath as she and Boyd stepped over the threshold into their new accommodation, the extravagant opulence easily eclipsing that of their previous lodgings in its elegant grandiosity; the room was resplendent in luxurious oak furniture and soft cream carpet, deep sapphires and tranquil azures splashed tastefully across the strikingly modern wall art, the colours accented subtly in the soothing tones of the curtains and accessories. The enormous bed was clearly intended as the centrepiece, its inviting warmth decorated abundantly with silk throws and bejewelled cushions, and Grace felt herself flush as she noted the ivory rose petals that had been scattered liberally across its satin surface, the obvious overtones of romance causing discomfort to seep gradually into her consciousness as she took in the sight.

Boyd let out a low whistle at her side. "Do you think they gave us the honeymoon suite by mistake?" he said, grinning as he began to walk the length of the room, retrieving various items from his bag as he surveyed his surroundings.

Grace rolled her eyes as she followed suit. "Well, if they did, we should go and complain. They're clearly taking the mickey if they think we're newlyweds."

His smile widened as he turned to look at her, his features a portrait of amusement. "Why? We could be on our second time round, couldn't we?"

"And still buying into the hearts and flowers thing? Please."

He laughed loudly. "Are you saying you don't, Grace?"

"I'm saying that I'm more realistic these days, that's all. I'm not so easily bowled over by overtly romantic gestures with no substance behind them."

"Were you ever?"

She gave him a conciliatory smile. "I suppose not."

"Christ, you must have been hard work."

"You have no idea."

_More's the pity, _he thought playfully, trying to rein in another smile as it threatened to explode across his features. _Might have been fun...._ Aloud, he said, "You going to buy me that drink, then? We can kill two birds with one stone and use the opportunity to position a few of the electronic bugs about the place."

She nodded. "Including in the conference room? I presume you won't be able to wear a wire...."

"Can't risk it. One pat-down and they'd suss me straight away."

"They might also sweep for bugs if they're savvy, though, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "I'm going to have to chance it. We need a clear record of everything that's said for when this goes to court."

Grace raised a surprised eyebrow. "'When' and not 'if'?"

"Too bloody right. The only way there won't be a trial is if they plead guilty when they're charged."

"I hope so."

"Oh, come on. What's happened to your usual irritating optimism?"

"It disappeared into the ether when I started spending all this time with you," she countered teasingly, the corners of her mouth twitching into a brief smile.

"Well, role reversal isn't an option, Grace, so get it back, alright?"

Her smile widened warmly, touched by his concern, however oblique. "I'll do my best."

"Good. Now, how about that drink, eh?"

She nodded and allowed him to lead her from the room, stopping only to collect the numerous minute listening devices that were surreptitiously contained within the lining of his bag before stepping out into the corridor, their fingers naturally interlacing as the masks of their assumed identities slid effortlessly into place once more.

* * *

The dimly lit bar was quiet, a handful of people nursing drinks whilst standing at tables of a stylish geometric design or reclining casually on low slung benches, their attention drawn briefly as Boyd and Grace entered the room before settling back to their conversations amidst a background of piped acoustic music. Boyd groaned softly as he noted the identity of one of the tables' occupants.

"Christ, can't we ever escape him? All I wanted was a bloody quiet drink," he grumbled _sotto voce_, even as he raised a palm in greeting towards the younger man.

Grace squeezed his hand whilst smiling brightly across the room. "Just go and say a quick 'hello'. I''ll get us a bottle of red and find a table, alright?"

"Oh, thanks, Grace. Leave me to face the devil all alone, why don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, he's clearly over there with his business associates, it might help you get a feel for the group dynamics, for the...."

He half-turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Are you being serious?"

"Of course I'm being serious."

"Grace, the day I can accurately pick up on group dynamics is the day I put you out of a job."

She ignored him resolutely, nudging his side to encourage his movement. "Go on. Get it over with and stop stalling."

He groaned irritably, mumbling incoherently under his breath, but released her hand and began to cross the room to where Britten and his companions were sitting. Grace's eyes traced his movement, a pang of anxiety fluttering briefly in her chest which she pushed firmly away before walking to the bar and ordering a bottle of moderately-priced Shiraz. Momentarily, she settled herself onto one of the plush corner sofas on the far side of the room, pouring herself a generous glass whilst she observed Boyd's seemingly light-hearted exchange, punctuated as it was by raucous laughter, the jovial sounds reverberating around the otherwise tranquil room. Several minutes later, she watched as he clapped Britten heartily on the shoulder before sauntering back across the room and sinking heavily onto the couch at her side, a forced smile plastered firmly across his features as he addressed her through gritted teeth.

"Bunch of tossers," he breathed vehemently, taking the proffered glass and bringing it instantly to his lips in grateful acceptance.

She shook her head. "That's a very quick judgement, Boyd. You don't fancy taking your time and coming up with something a bit more measured?"

"I've come across enough smarmy businessmen over the years to take them at face value, Grace. They make a living out of pedalling bullshit."

"Legitimately, in this instance?"

"Possibly. Possibly not."

"Hmm." She paused to take a sip of her wine, crossing one leg over the other towards him before continuing. "Did you get the sense they were accepting of you as one of their contemporaries?"

He blew out his breath. "God, I don't know, Grace. How do you tell something like that in just a few minutes?"

"It's just...it occurs to me that Britten was very quick to trust you, that's all. We've only known him for a few days and he's already welcoming you into his fold."

Boyd shrugged. "He saw an opportunity to make money and he went for it. I think it's as simple as that."

"Appealing to your greed as a fellow high-flyer?"

"Exactly."

"Still...it rather presumes you're gullible enough to be taken in by him, doesn't it? And if it's all true, it's a step away from his usual M.O of targeting lone women."

"Again, I think it comes down to opportunism. He fancies you but I'm the one with the money, so he's forced to deal with both of us together."

"Meaning he's prepared to venture outside of his comfort zone for the potential gain, both sexually and financially."

He took another draw from his glass. "That's not completely out of the question, is it?"

"Are you asking me as a psychologist?"

He grinned cheekily. "Use it or lose it, Grace."

She raised an amused eyebrow, her sole reaction to his comment as she continued along her train of thought. "It's not completely out of the question, no. But bear in mind, in that respect, he's no different to any other person on the face of the planet."

"In that we'd all go the extra mile for the promise of reward?"

"Yeah. Particularly in terms of sex and money, those are both extremely powerful motivators."

"Especially for men, I'm guessing."

She shrugged. "In a typical profile, yes."

"Hmm."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence then, each contemplating their own thoughts in the peaceful quiet of the slowly emptying bar before Boyd spoke again. "He's watching us, Grace, did you notice that? He keeps glancing over when he thinks we're not paying attention."

"I noticed."

"Something to do with keeping his targets in his sights?"

"Either that or the voyeurism thing again."

"Do you think?"

"It's possible, if we're right about him getting his kicks out of...." She trailed off, frowning in confusion as Boyd prised the glass from her fingers and placed it onto the low acrylic table in front of them, along with his own, before angling his body towards her. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged lightly, leaning back against the soft ebony cushions of the couch and encouraging her to do the same, before laying his palm against the thigh she had crossed towards him and casually sliding it upwards along the outer curve, letting his warmth infuse through the layers of her clothing as his hand came to rest against her hip.

"Boyd?" she prompted again, her heart beginning to pound enthusiastically as she revelled in the sensation of his touch.

"What?" he replied, a slow grin spreading gradually across his features, his fingertips exploring the gentle curvature of her waist, hip and thigh in delicate, intricate movements. "You're the behaviour expert here, Grace; isn't this the sort of thing couples are expected to do when they're sitting together?"

Her eyebrows quirked upwards in surprise, even as she began to relax beneath his ministrations, allowing her head to drop casually against her hand, her elbow propped against the back of the couch. "What, even married couples of our age?"

"Why not?"

She smiled. "I'm sure my kids could tell you why not. As could anybody below the age of about thirty five."

"The bloody youth of today, what do they know?"

"It's something to do with a perception of public decency, Peter...."

"It's ageism, pure and simple. If we were young and I had my hand on your leg, no one would think twice about it."

"Because it's more socially acceptable. Being young is associated with attractiveness, vitality, fertility...."

"And those things don't apply beyond a certain age?" He groaned. "That's a depressing thought, Grace, isn't it?"

"It's even more depressing for a woman, Boyd, believe me."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, God, please tell me you're not about to start banging your feminist drum about society's so-called negative attitude towards older women?"

She regarded him scathingly. "Come on. You know me better than that."

"Well, what, then?"

"Think about it. You could go on fathering children until you die, if you felt that way inclined. The loss of reproductivity for women, it's....it's a strange thing to deal with. Makes you question all sorts of things about yourself, your identity, your sexuality...."

"Really?"

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"No, it's just....you always seem so self-assured, Grace. At peace with who you are and what you've done with your life."

"Well, I am, in those respects. More or less."

He looked at her steadily. "But you're talking about something else?"

She shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance, feeling her stomach tighten in response to the somewhat intimate direction their conversation had taken. "It's...it's just odd to look in the mirror and see a body that's unfamiliar, that's succumbing to the ravages of time and gravity, that's all."

"And you don't think the same is true for men as they get older?"

"Not to the same extent. Scoff all you want to but societal attitudes have a big role to play; it's more acceptable for a man to have grey hair than a woman, for instance. We use descriptive terms like 'distinguished' and 'suave' for men and no such positive equivalents for women."

He raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You're not grey, Grace."

"Hmm. I think my hairdresser would beg to differ."

He grinned lopsidedly, removing his hand from her thigh to reach up and lightly touch her hair, his fingers threading easily through the soft tresses and gently grazing the helix of her ear, gratification filling him when she failed to pull away. "Is this not natural, then?" he asked mischievously, his voice laced heavily with amusement, his dark eyes shining. "And there's me thinking someone like you would shun all that superficial nonsense as a matter of course."

Grace rolled her eyes, even as she leaned unconsciously into his touch, her senses singing beneath his fingertips. "You're missing my point, Peter."

He chuckled softly. "No, I'm not. I understand what you're getting at."

"Do you?"

"Hmm." He leant towards her then, his gaze intense as his fingers continued to explore the silken strands of her hair before moving to stroke the length of her jaw line, his thumb tracing tender circles across the velvet expanse of her cheek. _Oh, God...how the hell can you be worried about not being attractive any more?_ "Is he still watching?" he asked huskily, his blood beginning to pound as he noted the slight hitch in her breathing.

Grace glanced across the room before looking back at her companion, his proximity causing shivers to prickle across her skin, her cheek warm beneath his touch. "Oh, yeah. He's being quite subtle about it but he's definitely still watching."

"Good." He smiled wickedly as he inched his face gradually closer to hers. "Don't slap me, Grace."

Her expression mirrored his, her eyes twinkling even as her body began to tingle with anticipation. "I've got no intention of slapping you. I know what we're doing here, Peter, you don't need to keep reminding me."

"I'm just making sure."

"Well, it's unnecessary. I told you I'd follow your lead and I will."

"Alright. Just as long as he's still watching."

_Because you'd never be doing this otherwise, would you?_ She pushed the dark thought resolutely away, her physical craving for him overwhelming any residual rational thought as his mouth found hers, his lips caressing her gently as his hand continued to toy with her hair, holding her firmly in place whilst he launched a determined assault against her senses. She gasped, her whole body filling with astonishment as she felt the merest hint of his tongue against her lower lip, arousal flooding hotly to every nerve ending, and she pulled away sharply, aware that she was rapidly starting to lose perspective.

"Too much for public decency?" he asked momentarily, clearing his throat to assuage his sudden breathlessness, releasing his hold on her as he forced himself to put some distance between their bodies.

She compelled herself to smile, despite instantly missing his touch as he moved away. "In reference to our earlier conversation?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe a bit."

"Well...it's a means to an end, Grace. I want to get him to boiling point so I can push his buttons at this meeting tomorrow."

_A means to an end...._ "There's no telling how it'll turn out, Boyd."

"I'm well aware of that. It's a chance I'm willing to take."

She held up a palm. "Okay."

He grinned. "So I can continue to behave with impunity, then?"

"If you think it's worth it."

"I do. Christ, Grace, of course I do."

He looked at her for a long moment then, hoping desperately that she had understood the subtext of his words before reaching for his long-discarded wine glass, relief flooding him as he felt her tense body begin to relax at his side, settling comfortably against him as they reclined back atop the cushions of the couch.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: M, for language, sexual situations.

**A/N: **Well, it had to happen sooner or later – our favourite couple get **very** hot and heavy in this chapter (with an angsty twist, though, which makes me worried I'm about to get lynched, lol!)....so this is your cold shower warning! Please look away now if you're likely to get offended. As I said, I'm nervous about posting this chapter - it's kinda outside of my comfort zone in some ways but I've just decided to go for it....so I'd be very interested to know what everyone thinks (positive or negative, I honestly don't mind!) My thanks, as always (but in particular for this tricky chapter) to **shadowsamurai83** for the beta :) x

* * *

Grace collapsed heavily against the smooth surface of her pillow, her weary body grateful to finally be resting, her aching muscles glad of the supportive surface of the luxuriant mattress and the comforting warmth of the silken bed sheets. Beside her, Boyd groaned with pleasured enthusiasm and she felt her stomach turn over; his unspoken presumption that they would continue to share a bed in their new accommodation had both surprised and pleased her, and she had made no move to stop him when he had slipped between the sheets, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body despite his respectful distance from hers.

"God, how am I ever going to go back to my crap Ikea bed after this?" he mumbled, his voice slick with relaxation, his eyes already half closed as sleep began its siren beckoning.

She smiled, reaching up to switch off the light before turning onto her side away from him, curling her legs to her chest in an attempt to stretch out the tense muscles of her back. "I'm sure you'll manage," she replied through a yawn.

"You mean once I re-adjust to life on the rough side of the tracks?"

She chuckled quietly into the darkness. "You drive an Audi, Boyd. That's hardly living on the bread line."

"Yeah, well...."

"Plus think of all the overtime you're accruing from this little expedition."

He snorted. "With Dyson controlling the purse strings? Give me a break, Grace."

"At least you have a chance. I'm pretty sure my Home Office contract doesn't even remotely cover situations like this."

"Have you checked the small print?"

"Come on...."

"Alright. If, by some miracle, I actually manage to convince Dyson I'm due overtime for risking my neck in the name of justice, I promise to take you to dinner anywhere you like. That a fair deal?"

She laughed, warmth infusing her chest at his words. "Anywhere I like?"

"Within reason, Grace."

"Ah. Meaning I'll be limited to a choice of Ask or Strada....or maybe Prezzo, if I'm lucky?"

"Give me some credit. Contrary to popular opinion, I _do_ know a few nice places to take a woman to dinner."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. And some of them even charge more than a tenner a bottle for wine."

"Bloody hell. I feel quite spoilt already."

He yawned. "You should."

"So, I'd be pushing my luck to try and get a bottle of Premier Cru thrown into the mix as well, then?"

"Bear in mind that we're talking about _Dyson_ here, Grace. If I get more than a handshake from her, I might have a heart attack."

"Well, it'd be worth it. It's very good wine, Boyd."

He tutted. "I had no idea you could be so self-centred."

"Only in pursuit of a fancy meal and a decent vintage."

"Christ, I need to start playing the lottery," he murmured under his breath, adjusting the bedclothes to more fully envelope his body as he shifted beneath them, yawning loudly. "Let's get some sleep, eh?"

She laughed lightly. "Is this you getting the last word in, then?"

"Too bloody right."

"Pity. I've got every intention of taking it up with you again in the morning."

He groaned theatrically. "Good night, Grace."

"Night, Boyd," she replied warmly, her body relaxing into the soft sheets of the bed, unable to stop the blissful darkness from tenderly removing her conscious grasp on the world and drifting her hazily into its welcome embrace.

* * *

The quiet room was filled with an inky blackness as Grace's eyes blinked slowly open, her still slumbering mind floating in a cloud of confusion as she struggled to acknowledge the solid mass pressed firmly against her back, the warm arms encircling her, the soft lips nuzzling insistently at the tender skin of her neck. She gasped into the darkness, the breath attacking her lungs in a sudden rush as she recalled the identity of her bed-mate, her mind accelerating rapidly to alertness as she became fully aware of the intoxicating sensation of his mouth, the feel of his tongue as he traced the flesh of her earlobe, the heat of his breath against her skin. _Oh, God...this can't be happening...._

"Boyd...." She exhaled softly, his name almost prayerful on her lips, torn between a need to be sure of his intentions and a desire to allow him to continue unhindered, to relieve the tension that had been slowly building between them for the better part of a decade.

He grunted deeply in response, pulling her ever closer against him as his hand sought the soft skin of her stomach beneath her pyjama top, his fingertips tracing lazy circles as he continued to passionately devour her neck, the sensory overload causing her to tremble beneath his ministrations, and she took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to regain control of her body.

"Boyd, we need to talk about this, we...," she tried again, her incomplete sentence ending abruptly in a pleasured groan as his hand slid deftly across her ribs to cup the fullness of her breast, his fingertips teasing her nipple into an aching point, the action causing lightning bolts of arousal to cascade through her bloodstream and pool between her thighs.

"Want you," he mumbled in staccato against her skin, his erection insistent as he thrust his hips against her buttocks, his hand slipping sensuously southwards from its caress of her breast to stroke her intimately beneath her clothing, slow, determined motions causing ripples of need to ricochet through her senses.

"Oh, God....Boyd....." She gasped throatily, even as he swallowed his name on her lips, bending across her body to kiss her deeply, roughly, his tongue tangling effortlessly with hers, his fingers teasing her agonisingly, her body threatening to betray her as she revelled in the excruciatingly sweet pressure he was expertly invoking at her centre. _Oh, it's been too long, far too long...._

With one fluid motion, he flipped her easily onto her back and rolled on top of her, his body radiating desire, heavy and hard between her legs, his hips already thrusting against her despite the layers of their clothing, and he reached for the waistline of her pyjama bottoms, trying to force the material down her body, to gain closer access to her skin, her heat, her arousal.

"Peter...," she murmured breathlessly as he kissed her once more, his tongue sliding thickly across hers before sucking her lower lip fully into his mouth, causing her to moan hotly against him, her thoughts becoming increasingly erratic as she lost herself in the generous softness of his mouth, the determined insistence of his tongue. "We should.....talk...."

"No," he mumbled firmly against her mouth, grasping her hand and pressing it to his engorged groin, swallowing her groan as her fingers curled instinctively about him, thrusting hard into her palm, his breathing ragged and shallow. "Need you, Sarah...."

_Jesus, NO! _Grace's eyes flew open in the darkness at the sound of the name on his lips, her arousal dissipating instantly as a searing sharpness lanced suddenly across her chest, mortification flooding her senses as she realised, with a twisting, bitter pain, that he had mistaken her in the blackness for his absent lover. _Oh, my God, I think he's still asleep....and dreaming....he's dreaming of her while he's touching me.... _She let out a strangled cry, struggling beneath him as she attempted to separate their bodies, a desperate need to get away from him filling every pore of her being, and she shook him roughly by the shoulders.

"Boyd," she sobbed, unable to restrain the torrent of emotion pressing achingly against her throat, the anguish coating her voice. "Boyd!"

He flinched against her as her words registered through the haze of his partial consciousness and he blinked rapidly with confusion, the grey shadows of the darkened room before his eyes further bewildering him, and he fumbled for the bedside lamp, embalming the surroundings with a soft pastel light. He drew a sharp breath at the sight beneath him; Grace was deeply flushed, her chest heaving, her pyjamas disturbed, his throbbing hardness pressed insistently between her thighs, and he blinked again, trying desperately to recall how they had managed to arrive in their current position, his memory hazy with flashes of her mouth, her breast, her scent.

"Grace?" he asked huskily, his voice thick with slumber and arousal, his body further tightening in reaction to his conscious knowledge of her presence beneath his weight, and he moved instinctively to kiss her, to continue the journey they had begun in lieu of his full awareness, his acute need eradicating all rational thought easily from his mind. "Jesus, Grace....feel what you do to me...."

"No, Boyd...." She was struggling desperately as she turned her face away from him, her palms connecting repeatedly with his chest as she forced him to relinquish his grip on her, her legs kicking out as she manoeuvred herself from beneath him, tumbling hastily to the floor in jumble of sheets.

Boyd frowned in bewilderment as he sat back on his heels, watching as she rose shakily from the ground and straightened her clothing, tension etched into every contour of her body. "Grace...what...what the hell did I _do_?"

She choked back a sob at his words, stabbing pains ripping through her stomach and she took several steps backwards, concurrently unable and unwilling to meet his gaze. "It...it doesn't matter. Go back to sleep."

"What? I don't understand, Grace, I...."

"Just go back to sleep." _Back to dreams of making love to __**her**__, dreams where I don't exist, where I don't matter, where I'm less than nothing to you.... _The embittered thoughts forced her stunned body into motion once more and she flew towards the bathroom, ignoring his puzzled calling of her name as she closed the door heavily behind her before sinking slowly onto the unyielding cold of the floor tiles. _Oh, God...I've been such a bloody fool, such a bloody, fucking stupid, old fool..._ _Why did I let myself hope that he...? How could I possibly have thought that he...that he'd want me after all these years? I should have known, I should have __**known**__ he wasn't aware of what he was doing, that he was thinking of her, I should have stopped it before I let it go so far, before I let him touch me like that, before he made me ache so desperately with need for him.... Oh, Christ...how can I ever face him again? _She brought a hand to her mouth to catch the agonised sob which escaped her lips at the final thought, her tears running in silent, salty rivers down her cheeks, her chest contracting with her anguish.

* * *

Boyd blinked slowly awake, the weak, pale sunlight trickling through the curtains irritating his eyelids, and he passed a hand across his face as he rose gradually to alertness, groaning as his weary body resisted his mind's attempt to rouse it. He frowned as he surfaced through the final layers of slumber, glancing around the room and noting the eerily quiet stillness with a gnawing whisper of unease, rising from the bed to pace to the bathroom and knocking gently as he reached the door.

"Grace?" he called softly, the knot of anxiety in his stomach expanding rapidly at the lack of response, and he moved towards the desk, his fingers grasping his mobile phone, his heart beginning to pound as her phone instantly responded to his summons, its cheerful chirping sounding from the pocket of her jacket slung casually across the back of a chair. _Where are you, Grace...?_

Momentarily, he felt relief soak his skin as she appeared at the doorway, fragmented memories of the previous night flooding his senses suddenly as he looked at her, remembering with a start the taste of her mouth, the velvet softness of her skin, the sweet moisture between her legs. _Oh, shit...did we...? Or did I dream it? God knows I've had enough dreams about it before....Christ, why the fuck can't I remember? _He thought worriedly, noting her pale skin and subdued eyes with a slight frown as she stepped fully into the room.

"Where've you been?" he asked, his tone infused with gruffness as he attempted to conceal his discomfort and uncertainty, his concern deepening as she crossed her arms defensively across her chest, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"For a swim," she replied curtly, moving across the room to fill the kettle, desperate to put some distance between them and needing a occupation for her hands.

"And you didn't feel like writing me a note or, at the very least, taking your phone with you?"

She sighed again, her back rigid with tension. "I didn't realise I had to ask your permission, Boyd."

"Oh, for God's sake, Grace!" he exploded suddenly, throwing up his hands in frustration. "What the hell was I supposed to think?"

"Nothing. You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. It's as simple as that."

"Anything could have happened! Britten could have...."

"But he didn't. I just went for a swim, Boyd, alright? I needed some time on my own."

"Why?"

"To think." _To think about how deluded I was to think you might ever want me, about how stupid I was to start to hope that it was all genuine...._

"About what?"

"Does it matter?"

He blew out a breath in irritation. "Christ, Grace. You know, usually I have trouble shutting you up."

She addressed him over her shoulder, determined to prevent her distress from rippling in waves across her voice, dismay cutting through her chest as she pondered the ease with which they had returned to their usual argumentative holding pattern. "It comes back to reading people, Boyd. About recognising when they want to be left alone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the most talented of men in that department. So, you're going to have to open your mouth and spell it out for me."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

He sighed heavily, the flat resignation of her tone further worrying him. "I'm not a bloody mind reader, Grace."

"I'm not asking you to be."

He looked at her with disdain. "Of course you're not. You're just expecting I'll pick up on all these pissed off vibes you're projecting and work it out for myself."

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"It's written all over your face."

She sighed, turning fully towards him and holding up a hand. "All I did was go for a swim on my own, Boyd. That's all."

"Right, and with a bloody black cloud over your head. So, either something happened while you were out that you're not telling me...." He stepped towards her, his eyes flashing intensely. "Or something happened last night. Which is it, Grace?"

"How about none of the above?"

"Which is it?"

She threw up her hands with exasperation at his dogged persistence, her heart beginning to pound as he cut dangerously close to the truth. "It couldn't possibly be that I'm thinking about something else?"

"I don't think so, no."

"Because everything always has to be about you, is that it?"

He sighed, the undercurrent of her tone telling him far more than the content her words. "It's a simple matter of deduction, Grace."

"Nothing to do with your ego and its constant attention-seeking behaviour?"

He groaned wearily, squeezing his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them once more, willing patience to his bloodstream. "Why do you always do that?"

She frowned. "Do what?"

"Revert to your bloody psychobabble to avoid putting forward a proper argument."

"I've got nothing to put up an argument about. You're pressing me over something that isn't even an issue."

"So why do you look like you haven't slept, then? And why can't you look me in the eye?"

She sighed heavily with defeat and exhaustion, the breath rattling shakily from her body. "Leave it, Boyd. Please."

He stepped towards her then, his hand reaching out tentatively to touch her shoulder, his stomach clenching as she flinched away from him. "Look, Grace...I don't...." _Talk to me. Tell me what happened. Tell me what the hell I did to make you so upset.... _

"You'll be late for your meeting."

He looked at her steadily. "It's not for an hour."

"Well, for your briefing, then. You don't want to keep Spence waiting."

He continued to look at her for a long moment, feeling his chest contract painfully as he absorbed the barely concealed hurt in her eyes, the taut muscles of her face, but he pushed the sensation determinedly away, infuriation at her uncharacteristic reticence overwhelming his senses suddenly, and he blew out a hot breath. "This is getting us bloody nowhere."

With that, he tore angrily towards the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, the frame shaking violently, the wooden supports protesting against the force of the impact. Grace took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes closed, willing away the tears smarting acidly at the corners of her eyes before moving back towards the kettle with almost robotic resignation.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **Sorry, guys, this has taken a while longer than I'd hoped – a busy work week, a messed up commute (trains, the bane of my life!) and a cold haven't helped! Anyways, a brief note for this chapter – the two sections are meant to run simultaneously, describing events which occur in different places at the same time. Again, I'm indebted to **shadowsamurai83** for the beta x

* * *

_11am_

Boyd strode purposefully down the corridor, trying to ignore the strangling sensation of the tie against his throat, the stiffly uncomfortable material of his suit, the unfamiliar feel of a leather briefcase against his fingertips. He swallowed hard, willing away the nervous anxiety gnawing insistently at his stomach as his thoughts turned to the meeting he was mere minutes away from attending. It comforted him somewhat to know that Spence would be listening via the covert radio transmitters secreted about the conference room, his team of mismatched officers from various squads within striking distance, and yet Boyd found he was unable to discard the dark cloak of uncertainty which had settled about his shoulders, the deep sense of dread filling his chest. He sighed, fully aware that the impending meeting was not the only cause of his unease; his mind inevitably drifting to Grace and their recent conversation. Her reluctance to talk had surprised and saddened him, her reticence in stark contrast to her normal predilection for frank discussion, and he felt his throat tighten as he pondered her motivations, desperate to clearly remember the events of the previous night, frustration filling him at his lack of success. _Christ, it's hopeless_, he thought irritably. _Whatever I did, I was half asleep....if I even did anything....so why the hell do I feel so guilty? Why can't I get her haunted face out of my head? Just when I was starting to think...to finally allow myself to feel....what, exactly? That's the fucking problem, I don't have a fucking clue __**how**__ I feel...._

He shook his head forcefully, desperate to banish his confusion, willing himself to concentrate on the task at hand as he reached the conference room door, studiously ignoring Spence, who was sat casually on one of the leather sofas to his left, sipping from a steaming cup and pretending to leaf through the newspaper which was strewn across his knees. Boyd knocked gently on the door and admitted himself without waiting for an answer, squaring his shoulders as he stepped over the threshold.

"Ah, Mr. De Silva-Jones, I presume?" A large, silver haired man had risen from his chair and was now standing with his hand outstretched, plump fingers proffered in greeting, sharp blue eyes appraising the newcomer as Boyd tried to take in his surroundings, quickly counting nine people around the gleaming oak table in addition to the spokesman. Britten was notably conspicuous by his absence and Boyd had to force himself to maintain a neutral expression despite the prickle of discomfort creeping steadily up the back of his neck.

He smiled widely as he accepted the man's hand. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. And you are?"

"Mortisen, Bill Mortisen. It's a pleasure; won't you sit down?"

Boyd complied immediately, hoping his posture reflected confidence and relaxation as he reached for the coffee pot that was perched elegantly on the table and poured himself a generous cup. "Is Mr Britten not joining us?" he asked casually, glancing around the room and nodding a greeting at its occupants, even as the question formed on his lips. "I'd rather assumed he'd be our Chair when he invited me along...."

Mortisen shook his head as he resumed his seated position. "He's passed that honour to me for the time being today," he said lightly, bringing his own cup to his lips and smiling in satisfaction.

"Any particular reason? I thought this business opportunity, whatever it is, was his baby?"

"Oh, it is, very much so. The rest of us are just investors, hopefully much as you'll become once we've gone through everything with you."

"And David doesn't like to personally welcome a new investor on board?"

"Well, he normally does. He assured me he'd be along in due course, he's just taking care of something else and then he'll be right with us."

_Taking care of something else.... _The man's words nagged incessantly at the periphery of Boyd's consciousness and he felt acid curl distastefully in his stomach, but he forced the sensation away, his mind refusing to acknowledge his darkest fears. _No. She's fine. She's safe in the room, there's no way she'd open the door to him on her own....and him breaking it down would be far too conspicuous in a busy hotel...._

Outwardly, he smiled and leant back in his chair, a projection of nonchalance he wished was genuine. "Fine. Let's get down to it, then, shall we?"

Mortisen grinned. "A man who gets straight to the point. I think you'll be a welcome addition to our syndicate, Mr De Silva-Jones."

Boyd waved a hand dismissively. "Peter, please. There's no need to stand on ceremony, as far as I'm concerned."

"Excellent. Another point in your favour."

"So, lay it out for me, Bill. What's the score?"

"Well," the older man began, leaning forward to rest his massive hands on the table in front of him, "it's basically a new venture for David, for all of us, really. It's a foray into the jewellery trade."

Boyd raised a surprised eyebrow. "I thought David was in hedge fund investments, property, that type of thing?"

Mortisen shrugged. "He fancied a change, I think, saw an opportunity and went for it. Someone like David can turn his hand to just about anything."

"An opportunity for what, exactly?"

"It's glorified buying and selling. We buy the raw materials cheaply, sell them on at a profit[,] and take a chunk of the sales made once the stones have been manufactured into pieces for high-end jewellery shops."

"How much of a chunk?"

"Twenty five percent."

The policeman gave a low whistle. "I'm impressed. How can you get away with those kind of margins over the retailers?"

Mortisen waved a hand. "It's David who deals with the figures; we just put up the money for the initial purchases."

"And how much is the mark up between purchase and re-sale to the jewellers?"

"Fifty percent. But they're still getting an amazing deal before you start thinking it's totally unscrupulous. In fact, they think they're getting the goods cheaply, it's a win-win for everyone."

Boyd was quiet for several moments, his mind whirling as he tried to process the information he was receiving, frustration filling him as he noted that nothing in Mortisen's words had even hinted at an illicit or fraudulent deal. _Unless he's just being very guarded while he susses me out_, he thought warily, _and the dirty details will reveal themselves as we proceed....I need to keep going...._

"Some problem, Peter?" Mortisen asked eventually, breaking into Boyd's reverie with a reassuring smile.

Boyd grinned widely, making a sudden decision to partially show his hand as he voiced his concern. "Just wondering what the catch is, that's all," he said. "I mean, there's got to be something, it all sounds...."

The older man laughed loudly, cutting Boyd's sentence abruptly short. "It all sounds too good to be true?"

"Exactly."

"That's the beautiful simplicity of this deal, Peter. It's just buying low, selling high."

"But the profit margins, the procurement of the raw materials...."

Mortisen shook his head dismissively. "All handled by David, details we never have to worry about."

"You just give him your money and he gives you more back, is that it?"

"More or less."

"And no questions asked?"

The businessman frowned. "Why would we ask questions of such a highly respected and well renowned individual like David? Besides, it's easy money, Peter."

"At high risk?"

He shrugged. "Not especially. It's just the initial outlay that can be a bit hard to swallow but....well, for wealthy men like ourselves, it's not usually an issue...."

"I see."

"...And the guaranteed chance to make massive profits on the initial capital is, to be blunt, more than most people can resist."

"And I should be flattered to be invited on board?"

"Absolutely. David's very particular about who he chooses as his investors."

_I'll bet he is_, Boyd thought darkly. _He's looking for greedy bastards keen to make a quick profit....without paying too much attention to anything untoward.... Still, they all look very relaxed. If there __**is**__ something illegal going on here, I'm not sure it's fraud.... I'm not sure what it is...._

"Would I be able to check the paper trail?" he asked momentarily, aware he was potentially heading for somewhat dangerous water but needing to accelerate the conversation.

"Of course," Mortisen replied readily, opening the briefcase secreted on the floor beside his legs and retrieving a neatly bound stack of papers, which he slid across the table towards Boyd.

Wordlessly, he took them, his stomach tightening as he carefully surveyed their contents, his eyes skimming across pages of figures, of neatly printed text. _God, it all looks genuine_, he thought worriedly. _Shit....have we got this all wrong...?_

"Looks great," he said lightly after several moments, plastering a smile to his features to cover the churning in his gut. "Although I'll of course need my legal people to go through it with a fine tooth comb before I sign anything."

"Perfectly understandable. I mean, I know David was keen on you signing up today but...."

Boyd looked up sharply. "Was he?"

Mortisen held up a placating palm. "Relax, Peter. He just wanted me to explain all the details to you sufficiently well that you'd have no remaining doubts."

"I'm just careful with my money, Bill, especially with people I don't know very well. That's how come I've managed to hold onto so much of it over the years."

"Although it's always preferable to make more, don't you think? Especially when an opportunity as lucrative and foolproof as this one is being handed to you on a plate."

The policeman smiled guardedly, his eyes searching Mortisen's for any flicker of dishonesty, irritation filling him anew when he found none. "Something to bear in mind, at least. Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need some time to mull this over, speak to my wife, and all that."

Mortisen grinned broadly, rising to his feet as Boyd did the same. "Of course, Peter. Just let us know as soon as you possibly can what you decide."

"Well, I've got David's number so I can always call him directly. Shame he couldn't join us."

"I'm sure he just got held up. You know how meetings can drag on sometimes."

"I certainly do."

Mortisen smiled and reached out to shake Boyd's hand enthusiastically. "Thanks for coming, Peter. I hope we hear from you soon."

Boyd returned the older man's expression, squeezing his fingers in a firm grip and nodding crisply before walking striding from the room, striding past Spencer and straight into a smaller meeting room which he had previously reserved with the hotel manager. Several minutes later, the DI entered the room, his expression clouded with uncertainty as he surveyed his pacing boss.

"Shit, they're clever," the younger man breathed finally, his voice low, his tone one of frustrated incredulity.

Boyd shrugged. "Either that or they're clean, Spence. It's not impossible."

"How did the paperwork look?"

The DSI handed him the stack of papers. "Take a look. There's nothing immediately glaring."

"Probably just means they've covered their tracks. Britten's a convicted fraudster, don't forget, boss, that sort of thing is right up his street."

"So, we need to turn these over to the financial crimes lot, then, see if they can find anything hidden in the invoices or whatever."

Spence nodded. "What's your gut instinct?"

Boyd sighed nosily. "I don't know, Spence. I mean, I think Britten's as dirty as they come but...you heard that Bill Mortisen bloke in there, he was very open, very relaxed. He quite happily told me about the deal and handed over the paperwork without any reservation or hesitation...."

"Yeah, but he seemed very in the dark about the fine details, didn't he? Said Britten was the one who sorts all that out."

"Like I said, I don't have any doubts that Britten's up to his neck. I'm just not sure in what."

"I guess we can't do any more until we've done some digging behind the scenes."

"Yeah. I want you and Stella to...."

His words were cut off abruptly by a gentle tapping on the door and, frowning deeply at his DI, Boyd moved towards the source of the noise and opened the door slowly, feeling adrenaline beginning to pulse through his blood. A young man stood before him, sandy hair immaculately styled, crisp suit tailored to the sharp angles of his body, intelligent eyes peering from behind a pair of rimless spectacles. Boyd recognised him immediately from the meeting and he felt his heart plummet through the floor though he forced himself to smile, taking a breath to speak before being hurriedly interrupted by the unannounced visitor, the young man's words cutting him to the core as he spoke.

"I need to talk to you, Superintendent Boyd. It's urgent."

* * *

_11am_

Grace sighed deeply as she watched Boyd's retreating back, the breath almost painful as it forced itself from her lungs. They had barely spoken since he had stalked into the bathroom, the door shaking so viciously she was sure it would come off its hinges, and now, she felt anxiety consume her as she pondered the many things she had left unsaid, the torrent of emotions she had left unexpressed. _What if something happens...? _ She shook her head firmly, willing the thought away, but the darkness persisted, breaking easily through her defences. _Should I have told him the truth? Would I, if I'd known that was the last time I'd see him? God, I don't know....and I'm always berating __**him**__ for not talking.... _She snorted derisively at the irony as she moved to pick up an earpiece from the desk, fitting it snugly before sinking heavily onto a chair. _Christ, it's a bloody mess_, she thought bitterly, even as she tried to focus her mind on the hum of conversation that was quietly filtering through her senses. _And it's my own stupid fault....because at my age I should have known better, should have known that our ship sailed a long time ago...._

She was startled from her depressive musings then by an insistent knocking at the door and she rose absentmindedly, her fingers clasping the door handle before she remembered to glance through the spy hole, her breath catching as she took in the identity of her smartly dressed visitor. Gingerly, she pulled the door open, smiling widely to cover the pang of uncertainty that was resonating about her stomach.

"David, what a pleasant surprise," she said warmly. "Are you after Peter?"

The younger man smiled pleasantly, stepping towards her to lean casually against the door frame. "Well, I was just passing. Thought I might pick him up on the way to the meeting."

"That's very thoughtful, but I'm afraid he's already gone."

"Ah. Keen to get there on time, eh?"

"Something like that. He's always championed the importance of making the right first impression, my husband."

David grinned boldly. "In business or pleasure?"

She shrugged lightly. "In both."

He laughed, pausing for a brief moment before speaking again. "Any chance of a coffee, then, Grace? I'm feeling in desperate need of a caffeine fix before I face the hoards at this meeting."

"And being late for your own meeting doesn't bother you?"

"I'm the Chairman. It's sort of my prerogative."

Grace smiled, despite the knot of anxiety forming rapidly in her throat at his suggestion. "I don't know, David. I don't want to be responsible for your tardiness, however indirectly."

He took a small step towards her. "Do you not want me in your room, Grace? Is that it?"

"No, it's just...."

"Because we could always go somewhere else."

"I don't...."

"In fact," he said, stepping towards her once more and placing a hand on her arm, pale eyes darkening menacingly, "I _insist_ we go somewhere else. Somewhere away from here."

Grace felt her pulse quicken at the change in his tone, the thinly veiled threat behind his words[,] and she tried to move away, drawing a sharp breath as she felt his grip tighten against her flesh, and she willed calm to her voice as she addressed him. "I don't think it's a good idea, David."

The younger man smiled coldly, his slender features hardening as he pulled her roughly against him, his voice a harsh whisper assaulting her ear. "Well, put it this way, Grace, I'll make it simple for you. Either you come with me or I make one phone call that will end Peter's life. Need some time to think about that?"

The force of his words impacted her stomach like a blow and she felt her body sway, her blood thundering loudly inside her skull. _Oh, God....it was all a set-up. The rouse of a meeting to separate us so he could use us against each other.... Shit...how did we not see this coming?_ Grace swallowed hard, fully aware that there was only one decision she could make. "No," she said quietly, her voice catching as it struggled past her vocal chords. "No, of course not."

"Good. Let's go."

He released his hold on her then as they stepped into the corridor and began walking casually towards the lifts, his palm gently guiding her as it settled against her lower back, and Grace had to fight a desperate urge to call out to the other people in the vicinity, their unknowing smiles and nods filling her with a sense of despairing hopelessness. _I can't risk it,_ she thought, panic beginning to gather like a violent storm in her chest. _I can't risk what he'll do to Boyd if I make a fuss..... Oh, Christ, there's nothing I can do except go along with it...and hope I have the strength to fight him when the time comes...._

They moved into the lift then, and Britten took a breath to speak as their smooth descent began, his fingers digging into her soft tissue once more in a vice-like grip. "You know what's going to happen, don't you? You know what has to happen, Grace."

She lifted her chin slightly, a tiny act of defiance against her captor. "Nothing _has_ to happen, David. It's not set in stone."

"Oh, but it is. It was set in stone the first time I saw you."

"You still have a choice, you...."

He gave a derisive snort, cutting across her protests. "Please. There's no point in trying to talk me round, Grace. If I were you, I'd save your energy for worrying about whether I'll keep my word with regards to Peter."

Grace felt her body tighten reflexively at the venom in his tone and she closed her eyes briefly, an attempt to centre herself, before feeling Britten tug her roughly from the lift and into the car park, forcing her to walk hurriedly towards a waiting vehicle. As they reached it, she became aware of the presence of the driver, her eyes scanning across his features, and she turned towards Britten in time to see a sickening grin splitting the width of his face as he opened the passenger door. The next words to pass his lips filled her with such a terrible dread, she felt her stomach fall instantly to the ground, her heart threatening to explode through her chest with anxiety:

"Dr Grace Foley, meet my brother. I think you're going to get along fine."


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: M, for language, violence, sexual situations.

**A/N: **Just a quick note for this one – again, the sections are meant to run simultaneously to describe what is happening in two places at the same time. The only other thing I need to give is a pretty serious warning – this is an **extremely** dark chapter, which deals with very unpleasant subject matter: read at your own risk. I mean it, guys. Thanks to **shadowsamurai83** for braving it and beta-ing for me, I really appreciate it! :)

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_12 noon_

Grace bit back a cry as she was pulled roughly from the car, Britten's fingers clawing at her arm, dragging her back to her feet as she fell painfully against the sharp gravel of the road. She blinked rapidly against the bright sunshine, bringing into focus a large warehouse looming before her, and she felt panic rise uncontrollably in her throat, the remoteness of the location a stark reminder of her present bleak reality.

"Open the door, Robert," Britten ordered, throwing his brother a key and watching attentively as the younger sibling fumbled momentarily with the lock before slowly pushing back the wooden entrance to the building and stepping inside. David immediately followed suit, his grip tightening on Grace as they crossed the threshold, his hand guiding her through the dark corridor and towards another door. Grace felt the sickening dread which had been lapping at her stomach multiply suddenly in intensity as the door was opened to reveal a luxurious bed, its presence in blinding contrast to the surrounding disarray of boxes and packaging material, the dusty wooden floor, the cobweb coated light fittings.

"Get undressed, Grace," David barked harshly as he shoved her towards the bed. "I've chosen something for you to wear which I think will suit you down to the ground."

Grace swallowed as she took note of the silken nightdress which lay atop the bed sheets, the crimson material flowing easily through her fingers as she picked it up, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. "David," she said quietly, steadily, "it's not too late to stop. We can still...."

He struck her brutally hard across the face then, before she could complete her sentence, and Grace felt herself gasp at the bitter sting of his palm against her cheek, her body swaying backwards with the unexpected force of the impact.

"No talking," he rasped darkly as he stepped towards her, his hand once more rising in threat. "Just put it on, Grace. I've waited fucking long enough for this."

Silently she began to comply, her fingers shaking as she peeled away the layers of her clothing, embarrassment and fear creeping hotly up her cheeks as she reached her undergarments, her eyes flickering towards Britten in question as her hands hesitated. Her captor gave a short, derisive laugh at her obvious reluctance.

"You certainly won't be needing those, Doctor. Take them off."

His casual use of her title filled her with increasing alarm, confusion pulsating through her mind as she considered his knowledge of her true identity, grateful for the distraction from her physical task as she shed the final, intimate items of her clothing, quickly pulling the nightdress over head and smoothing it across her body, desperate to cover as much of her skin as she could.

"Fuck," David breathed softly as he took a step towards her, his hands grasping roughly at her hips and then slipping across her backside as his arousal burned against her stomach. "That's better, Grace. Christ, that's so much better."

Grace squeezed her eyes tightly closed as he touched her, revulsion winding about her nerve endings as his palm slid up her body to furiously knead her breast, his fingernails cutting sharply through the flimsy material of her clothing as he mauled her painfully, his teeth grazing her neck as he moved towards her ear. Instinctively, she flinched away from his voice as it groaned against her skin but he held her firmly to his body.

"Don't try to resist me, Grace. I won't hesitate to make that call if you do."

She took a shaky breath, her body shuddering with the effort. "I won't. But I need you to promise me you won't hurt Peter."

"Such touching devotion. I would have said I'd expect that level of commitment from a wife...but then we both know that Superintendent Boyd isn't your husband, don't we? He's not even your partner, for fuck's sake, he's no more than your boss."

Grace pulled away sharply, her eyes meeting his, aghast at his words. _Oh my God, no.... _"What?"

Her captor laughed manically. "That's right, Grace, I know everything about you. And everything about your beloved Boyd."

"I don't understand...."

Britten gave a contemptuous snort before pushing her roughly onto the bed, his fist connecting sharply with her cheekbone as he did so, satisfaction filling him as she recoiled from the momentum, a tiny cry of pain escaping her lips. "You arrogant bitch. Do you really think you're the only ones capable of covert surveillance?"

Grace shook her head, her mind struggling to digest his revelations as she tried to back away from him on the bed, her fingers moving to trace the tender flesh of her face. "You...were watching us...?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course. It's not difficult to bribe people to look the other way when you've got as much money as I have, Grace."

_Oh, Jesus. The hotel staff. He must have paid them, got them to help him...Shit...did he bug our room as well? Is that what he's talking about? Or...oh, God...._

He grinned wolfishly at her lack of verbal response, her expression one of distressed confusion[,] and he climbed onto the bed towards her, his hand sliding up the length of her thigh. "So, you see, Grace, we have no secrets, you and I. Isn't that a wonderful way for us to begin our relationship?"

She blinked, despair rising rapidly through her chest as he continued to trace the contours of her body. "It couldn't just have been surveillance," she said flatly, a sense of hopelessness settling resolutely about her shoulders, her throat beginning to close against the torrent of emotion assailing her chest. "We...I would never use Boyd's rank in a conversation...and he would never use my title. You...."

"Grace, your astuteness is astounding."

"You had the inside track. Oh my God...who did you pay in the Met to help you?"

Britten laughed loudly. "You really expect me to tell you that? Anyway, the information I obtained from listening to the two of you was worth far more than those fucking greedy little bastards could ever give me." He leant towards her forcefully, his hand moving to grasp her face, his fingers clawing at the sensitive skin of her cheek. "And watching you together in public...do you have any idea what that did to me, Grace? Seeing him with his hands all over you, his tongue in your mouth...even though I knew he was faking it, I still wanted to punch his fucking lights out...but I knew how much sweeter it would be if I waited, if did it all like I'm supposed to."

"You bastard," she breathed softly, unable to stop the hot tears from forming in her eyes, her voice catching against her larynx as his fist drove sharply into her infra-orbital bone, and she felt her skin split beneath the impact, warm blood oozing thickly from the wound and coating his knuckles as he pulled his hand away.

He was breathless as he looked at her, her chest heaving as she struggled to control her pain, and he grinned manically before moving back towards her, his tongue flicking out to taste her neck, the naked fear diffusing through her skin. "I know how much you want to be fucked, Grace," he whispered hoarsely, her tearful, shuddering gasp exciting him as his teeth nipped firmly at her throat. "I know how much you want him to fuck you.... Tell me, Grace...could I get you off if I carried on talking about him? If I pretended to _be_ him? What would it take, Grace? What would it take to have you screaming his name?"

She was sobbing beneath him now, her whole body shaking violently as his hand snaked underneath her nightdress to viciously assault her, his fingers thrusting excruciatingly hard as his hips followed suit despite the confines of his clothing.

"Would it help if I called you...Sarah?"

Grace felt her anguish reach a desperate climax, the agony in her heart matching the searing torture of her body, and she cried out, her vision blurring from the tears spilling uncontrollably down her cheeks, her chest heaving as she tried in vain to rein in her terror, her shame, her mortification. _Oh, Jesus, help me, help me, help me...._

"Does he know your dirty little secret, Grace? That you were practically begging him to fuck you while all the time he was thinking about another woman? Christ, you're pathetic, you know that? Fucking pathetic." He pushed her roughly away from him as he stood up to survey her prone form. "He obviously doesn't want you like I want you, why can't you see that?"

Her soft whimpering and shaking body filled him suddenly with rage and he leant forward to strike her once more, a blow landing squarely in the centre of her abdomen before another connected with chest, still another with her jaw until he finally pulled away, wiping her blood casually from his fingers.

"Anyway, that's enough talking...," he said decisively, turning towards the room's other occupant, the hunched form barely visible in the shadows, the emanating silence ominously oppressive. " I think I'm ready now, Robert."

Grace could only watch in horror as the younger man rose silently and began to unzip his jeans.

* * *

_12 noon_

"Who are you?" Boyd demanded roughly, grabbing the young man by his lapels and pulling him firmly into the room before shoving him into a chair, exchanging a glance with Spence before returning his attention to the visitor.

"I'm...I'm James Michelson, I'm one of David Britten's investors...."

"Start talking, Mr Michelson. How the hell do you know my name?"

The fair haired man sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair beneath the policeman's intense scrutiny. "First I need you to promise that you'll protect me. Once he finds out I've come to you...well, put it this way, I don't want to even _think_ about the consequences."

Boyd frowned darkly. "He'd kill you?"

"I don't know. There's no precedent but I wouldn't put it past him, he can be totally ruthless when the mood takes him."

Boyd searched the younger man's hazel eyes for a moment before replying, "Alright. You have my word."

An expression of relief spread rapidly across Michelson's face and he smiled. "Thank you."

Boyd leant towards him, his voice low and dangerous, his dark eyes flashing. "Don't thank me yet, Mr Michelson. I'll have absolutely no hesitation about throwing you back into the lion's den if you don't tell me everything I need to know, is that clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. Start talking."

The businessman swallowed hard, licking his suddenly dry lips as nervousness fluttered uncomfortably through his belly. "Okay. I've been with the syndicate a little over six months; David recruited me when we met in a bar in Greece, he approached me, we got talking and he invited me to a meeting, much like the one you came to yourself this morning."

"Did you suspect anything untoward about the deal?"

"No, not to start with, it all seemed perfectly legit. You saw for yourself, the paper trail is flawless."

"On the surface."

"Well, exactly. When I started to ask questions, David told me in no uncertain terms to back off. I mean, he was very pleasant about it, said I didn't need to worry about the details, that he would take care of everything, but it was clear he didn't want me looking too closely at what was going on."

"And did you? Or were you too blinded by the prospect of a quick profit to care about the fine print?"

Michelson looked at him steadily. "Of course not. I wouldn't be here if I had been."

"So, what did you find?"

"Nothing concrete. Just a few dodgy conversations about one of his suppliers; all done on the QT, you understand, I could never speak to anyone directly for fear of the fallout."

"Go on."

"Well...I think David's involved in some kind of extortion scheme in the Third World. That's how he manages to source the raw materials for the jewellery trade so cheaply."

Spence blew out a breath as he exchanged a worried frown with his boss. "But you don't have any evidence of this?" he asked momentarily, stepping towards Michelson as Boyd began to pace.

"No. It's just a suspicion based on a few conversations I was never even meant to be having."

Boyd turned to face the younger man. "We need names, Mr Michelson. We need to be able to trace these people if we're to have even a chance at proving any of this."

The businessman shook his head firmly. "People like that, they live in the shadows, in anonymity, Superintendent. It's the only way they survive, surely you must know that."

Boyd felt his thin layer of patience disintegrate suddenly. "So, you've got nothing, is that what you're telling me? A few half-arsed speculations and a vague sense that Britten is on the take?!"

Michelson frowned. "I thought you'd be pleased that I'd come forward, evidence or no evidence?"

Spence held up a placating hand before his boss could respond. "Of course we are. It's just hard to move forwards when we don't have any proof."

"I'm aware of that. I just thought...."

"Alright," Boyd interrupted, cutting off the younger man's justifications before turning towards his DI. "Spence, I want you and the other team to go and question the rest of the group, see if any of them can shed any light on what Mr Michelson here is saying...."

"It's pointless, Superintendent," Michelson cut in. "Even if they share my suspicions, they'll deny all knowledge. Each of them is only out to line his own nest, the details are inconsequential to them."

"So, you're the only one with a conscience, is that it?"

"I don't know about that. But I'm telling you you'd be wasting your time interviewing the syndicate; they'll just close ranks to protect their investments."

Boyd blew out a frustrated breath and turned back to his subordinate. "Get on it, Spence. It's the only thing we can do."

Spence nodded his acknowledgement and exited the room briskly, leaving Boyd to return his attention to his visitor, taking a breath to speak but being interrupted as the younger man began once more, his voice beginning to display signs of strain.

"So, are you going to put me in Witness Protection, then? Find me some sort of safe house?"

Boyd gave a mirthless laugh. "You think that's it, do you? You come in here telling me you're suspicious of David Britten and I'm supposed to move the Earth to look after you? Jesus, Mr Michelson, I was suspicious of that bastard the first time I laid eyes on him, you haven't told me anything I hadn't already worked out on gut instinct!"

Michelson looked up at his interrogator, a triumphant gleam glinting in his eyes. "But did you know he was suspicious of you too, Superintendent? That's he had you under surveillance all along in the same manner as you've had him?"

"What?" The DSI felt the reflexive question leave his body in a sudden rush of breath, his stomach twisting painfully in shock at the businessman's words, his heart thundering to a rapid pace. _Oh Jesus fucking Christ...he was playing us right from the start.... _

"How else do you think I know who you are? He told us you and your wife were police, that you were investigating him for fraud but not to worry about it because it was all absolutely untrue, that the deal we were part of was rock solid. He said we had nothing to fear from letting you in to the meeting because everything was above board and legitimate."

Realisation dawned across Boyd's face. "But him telling you that he was under suspicion helped to confirm your fears about him, is that right? Is that why you came to me?"

"Exactly. I didn't know what else to do."

Boyd felt an uneasy prickle of apprehension beginning to irritate the back of his neck as a terrifying thought took shape at the edges of his mind. "Where is he, Mr Michelson? Why wasn't he at the meeting?"

The businessman shrugged. "I have no idea. He just explained the situation to us and took off, said he had something he needed to take care of...." His voice trailed off as he watched the colour drain suddenly from the older man's skin, the raw panic flashing through his eyes. "What is it?"

Boyd strode wordlessly from the room, even as Michelson called after him, his hands shaking as he pulled his mobile from his pocket and speed dialled the familiar number, his heart threatening to explode through his chest with anticipation as he listened in vain to the persistent, continuous ring tone. _Come on, Grace, please, __**please**__ pick up the phone. Pick up the fucking phone, Grace! _He swore loudly as her answer-phone message began, her voice vibrating softly against his ear before he hung up abruptly, immediately dialling the number for their suite and feeling fear beginning to overwhelm him at the lack of response to his summons. _Oh, shit...how could I have been so blind? _In an instant he was moving towards the conference room, barking Spence's name as he reached the entrance, ignoring the irritated glances from the room's occupants as the DI walked towards him, his brow knitted in a frown.

"Sir?"

Boyd continued to scour the room before his eyes encountered Stella's and he beckoned her towards them, her willing smile turning rapidly into a concerned frown as she took in her boss' darkened expression, the worry etched into his features.

"What's going on?" she asked, her gaze flickering between the two men, her anxiety increasing exponentially at the fear emanating from Boyd's body.

Boyd took a deep, ragged breath, a futile attempt at willing calm to his senses before he spoke, his voice strangling in his throat as he forced the words past his lips. "I think Grace is in trouble."

"What?" Stella looked aghast, her mouth falling open with shock as she struggled to absorb her boss' words, panic pulsing instantly through her bloodstream.

"I think Britten has her. The meeting was a smokescreen to get me out of the way so he could take her."

"But...the fraud...," Stella stammered, her delicate forehead creasing, confusion filling every pore of her body.

"I don't think we're going to find any evidence of fraud. I think he's covered his tracks so well that if it exists at all, it's extremely cleverly buried." The DSI shook his head firmly. "No, the meeting was set up because he knew we'd find nothing on him. He did it to distract me from his real agenda, the agenda he's had all along."

"Shit," Spence breathed heavily, his own anxiety carved into his voice before his professionalism reasserted itself. "Where do we start?"

Boyd thought for a moment, his intelligent mind racing. "I need the two of you to get round to all of his residential addresses; break the doors down if you have to, we need to rule out the obvious places first."

Stella pulled out her mobile phone. "I'll call the local police, organise some backup."

Boyd nodded crisply, even as he began to pace away, forcing his trembling legs into action. "I'm going to check his business address. Call me with an update as soon as you can."

Spencer frowned deeply and took a step towards him. "You're not going on your own, boss."

The DSI turned mid-stride and sighed noisily. "There's no time to argue about procedure, Spence...."

"You'll be no good to Grace if you're dead."

Boyd snorted mirthlessly at the unintentional irony of the younger man's words, pain ripping through his chest as he turned away once more. _She'd be better off that way, Spence, believe me, since I'm the one that got her into this fucking mess_… "Call me when you know anything," he said curtly, ignoring the growl of frustration aimed squarely in the direction of his back.

* * *

The receptionist looked up, startled as a silver-haired man came striding towards her desk, his ruggedly attractive features drawn into a dark frown, his shoulders rigid with tension, his entire body radiating distress, and she smiled warmly, hoping to reassure him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Boyd pulled out his warrant card and slapped it roughly onto the desk. "Detective Superintendent Boyd. Is this David Britten's office?"

The woman frowned in concern though she nodded slowly. "Yes...yes, it is. Do you have an appointment?"

"Is he here?"

Boyd moved to step around the reception desk and towards a windowed inner door, his eyes scanning through the tinted glass, aware that his actions were, in all likelihood, futile but desperate to cling to the hope that he had misread the situation, that Grace was merely out for a walk and that Britten was truthfully involved in another business matter.

The receptionist rose to her feet abruptly. "You can't go in there, sir; only authorised personnel are allowed to...."

The policeman turned back towards her, his patience evaporating suddenly. "Maybe you didn't hear me when I told you who I was!"

She regarded him coldly. "I heard you perfectly well, Superintendent. It doesn't change anything. Unless you've got an appointment or a search warrant, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Boyd took an infinitesimal step towards her, a slight invasion of her body space, his voice low, resonating through the breadth of his chest. "Listen to me very carefully. Either you tell me where he is in the next thirty seconds, or I'm going to arrest you for perverting the course of justice. What's it to be?"

The woman looked shocked, her blue eyes widening. "You can't do that!"

"Twenty seconds." He barked a short laugh. "Believe me, today is _not_ the day to start with the 'I know my rights' bollocks. Fifteen seconds."

"I don't...."

"Ten seconds. If he's not here, where the hell is he?"

She sank back into her chair with deliberate slowness, ignoring the rising tone of his voice, the sharp insistence of his tone, despite the anxiety churning in her stomach. "Let me just check his diary for you, since you asked so nicely."

Boyd shook his head angrily, willing away a powerful urge to reach over the desk and slap her hands away from their poised position on her keyboard. "There's no way this would be in his diary; now stop wasting my bloody time and just tell me where he is!"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his brusqueness, she tapped rapidly, glancing up at the policeman when she had retrieved the appropriate information. "He's at the Harlequin Hotel and Spa, he's staying there until...."

"No he's fucking not. I can tell you that for a fact."

She frowned in puzzlement. "Then I don't know what else to tell you, Superintendent. I can only go by what's in his schedule, nothing else."

_Shit, shit, shit, she knows nothing...._ He began pacing in front of the desk, suddenly needing an outlet for his frustration and panic, fighting a desperate urge to scream until he was hoarse, to punch his fists repeatedly into the temptingly hard wooden desk, when an idea began to form at the edges of his mind. He leant forcefully towards the receptionist, the words tumbling from his mouth in sharp bursts.

"Has he got any warehouses in the vicinity, outbuildings, storage centres, that kind of thing?"

"I...I'm not sure. One second and I'll check for you."

She was silent for a few moments then as her fingers flew across her keyboard, her eyes scanning for the requested information before she spoke again. "He's got several storage facilities; Walthamstow, Harrow, Dulwich...plus a warehouse he's recently acquired in Battersea for his latest venture...."

"What's the address?"

"For all of them?"

"No, just the warehouse; whereabouts in Battersea?"

The receptionist scribbled the address hastily onto a card and handed it to him, frowning as she watched him spin briskly around and begin to walk away. "Look, Superintendent...what's this all about?"

Boyd half-turned back towards her, his expression grim, his eyes dark pools of anxiety. "Nothing that concerns you."

"But obviously something that concerns my boss?"

He returned to the desk in a sudden flash, leaning threateningly across its surface towards her, his finger stabbing the air inches from her face. "Don't you _dare_ call him, you understand? If I find out you've so much as _thought_ about helping him, I'll arrest you so quickly your feet won't touch the ground."

She searched his face, alarmed by the intense fire blazing through his features and she held up her palms. "Okay."

"Good."

He turned once more on his heel then and paced from the building, his fingers tightly clasped about the address card, his heart thumping painfully hard against his ribs. _Jesus, this is such a risk_, he thought anxiously, _he could be anywhere...Oh, Grace, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.... _He choked back a sob as her face swam insistently in his mind, her beautiful sapphire eyes sorrowful, but he forced the image determinedly away and pulled out his mobile phone, willing himself to concentrate, to focus on the practicalities and not on the waves of guilt rippling unbounded through his chest.

"Spence? Anything?" he barked, as the DI's tense voice vibrated against his ear.

The younger man sighed loudly. "Nothing yet, sir. We've been to two of his houses but they're deserted, no sign of anyone."

"Well, keep going. I've got the address of a warehouse in Battersea, I'm going to...."

"We'll meet you there."

"No, Spence." Boyd's voice was firm. "He could have taken her anywhere, I don't want to take any chances."

"Boyd...."

"If I find them, I'll call you for backup; otherwise, you're to keep going with the other properties, alright?"

Spence sighed once more. "Fine. I'll be no more than fifteen minutes away, tops."

"That's good to know, Spence. I'll keep it in my mind."

With that, he hung up and climbed clumsily into his car, allowing his eyes to close briefly as he settled in his seat, and taking a deep, calming breath, willing his hands to stop shaking, his pulse rate to slow. Momentarily, he realised his efforts were futile and he started the engine with trembling fingers, turning the car out of the car park before pressing his foot hard to the accelerator, the London streets passing him by in a blur. _Hold on, Grace. Please hold on._


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: M, for language, violence, sexual situations.

**A/N: **I'm afraid it's another warning for this chapter – again, the subject matter is **very** **dark** so please, please don't read this if you think it's likely to upset or offend you. I know I've put them through the wringer a bit with these couple of chapters; it was kind of challenge to myself to see if I could write them convincingly in an extreme situation and in the fallout from said situation. I hope I've managed it ok but please feel free to let me know if you think I should stick to writing banter/smut/run-of-the-mill angst, as is my usual way! :) Also, there is a little bit of this chapter that was inspired by The X-Files episode, 'Irresistible' – see if you can find it! :) I'm eternally grateful to the lovely **shadowsamurai83** for the beta – your help on this fic has been invaluable, hun, so thank you xx

* * *

Grace felt oddly disconnected from her body, as if she were floating serenely in the space inches above it and calmly observing the horrific scene beneath her, unable to directly experience the pain, the degradation, the humiliation. Robert Britten was atop her, his hips thrusting wildly, his hands pinning her firmly to the bed, his fingers leaving angry purple bruises on her upper arms as she watched herself struggle desperately, kicking her legs violently in a futile attempt to break free. She was peripherally aware that she was screaming, her tearful cries echoing hopelessly around the wooden constructs of the warehouse, her chest heaving as she gulped lungfuls of air into her body, further fuel for the desperate sobbing which was escaping unbidden from her lips. Momentarily, she turned her head away from her immediate oppressor, her gaze becoming focussed on his older sibling, who was sat several feet away, his thin fingers wrapped tightly about himself as his hips pulsed enthusiastically, his face ablaze with rapture, his voice spitting poisoned obscenities in her direction. She watched as she squeezed her eyes firmly closed against the vision, and allowed herself to drift, her thoughts turning to her children, her heart fracturing with sorrow at the notion that she would no longer be a part of their lives, that she would not see her grandson grow up, that she would never again be able to express her intense love for each of them. Her tears fell heavily, soaking her cheeks as she pondered the bitter blow her life had dealt her, the excruciating hopelessness of her situation, the futility of every lost opportunity she had allowed to pass her by. Intense regret filled her chest as she thought inevitably of Peter Boyd, her soul splintering with the realisation that she would never get to express the depth of her feelings, that she had allowed her fear of rejection to rule her and the invisible barriers existing between them to dictate her behaviour. She took a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling with the effort. _I wish I'd told you how I feel...how I've always felt...how much I...but it's too late now. It's too late for wishing, for hoping, for dreaming. It's too late for anything. Oh, God, I want to die. I just want them to kill me so this will be over...Please just let me die, let it be over, let it be...._

* * *

The brakes squealed loudly on Boyd's car as it skidded to a halt outside of a large warehouse, its bulk partially obscuring the sun as it blinked cheerfully through the clouds. Boyd took a sharp breath as he noted the presence of another car, his hand moving instantly to his mobile and dialling the familiar number. _That's got to be them, it just has to be_, he thought desperately as he listened to the harsh ringing against his ear briefly before Spencer came on the line, his deep voice tense.

"Boyd?"

"I'm here, Spence. And there's another car parked up."

"Britten?"

"I'd stake my life on it."

Spence swore softly. "We'll be there in fifteen, max. I'll call for local backup as well, see if they can be there sooner."

"Good."

"Don't do anything stupid, Boyd."

The DSI snorted, swallowing his instinctive anger. "This is _Grace_, Spence. Grace."

"You think I don't know that? But you getting put on a murder charge for pummelling Britten to death would really be the icing on the fucking cake, now, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you dare lecture me, you little shit, don't you dare!"

"Just don't lose it is all I'm saying. Take it easy, yeah?"

"Just get here, Spence. Fucking get here."

He punched the phone angrily then, severing the connection as he stepped from the car in a blaze of heat, his anger, his anxiety threatening to overwhelm him as he strode towards the entrance, a tiny glimmer of relief filling him as the door opened easily beneath his palm. Silently he stepped forwards into the darkness, his stomach clenching with tension as he listened intently for any signs of inhabitation, and he trod quietly down the corridor, his heart pounding as he lay his palm against another door. Taking a deep breath, he shoved hard against the knotted surface, the wood splintering easily with the sheer force of his exertion, and he burst into the room, bile rising instantly into his throat as he took in the nightmarish scene before him. Grace was lying flat on the bed, tears streaming across bitter purple bruises on her cheeks, a crimson nightdress bunched around her hips as man thrust hard against her body, David Britten looking on in ecstasy through heavily lidded eyes as he stroked enthusiastically at his groin. As if in slow motion, Boyd heard himself roar, his body barrelling forwards, his hands clawing at Grace's immediate attacker and ripping their bodies apart, his fist pummelling viciously into the younger man's face as he lay cowering on the floor, his shoulders shaking as he raised his hands in defence. In three steps, Boyd had crossed the room to where Britten was desperately trying to stand and move away, hindered by the presence of his trousers about his ankles, and he hauled the man roughly to his feet, pounding a clenched fist into his stomach and then into his jaw, blood spurting immediately and coating Boyd's knuckles in rich red fluid.

"You fucking bastard!" he spat venomously as he punched at Britten almost instinctively, his fist connecting repeatedly with the man's prone body, the satisfying force of the impacts fuelling his anger further.

Britten looked up defiantly from the floor, his pale eyes gleaming, even as he spat blood from his mouth. "Finally got here then, did you, Boyd? Finally worked it all out?" He laughed harshly, flinching away from another blow aimed towards his face. "Well, too fucking late! Your precious Grace is just another one I can add to my list, another conquest I can fantasise about! How does that feel, Boyd? How does that fucking feel?!"

_It feels like agony, you sick bastard, like complete and sheer agony!_ With his heart pounding loudly in his ears at the realisation, his stomach twisting painfully with guilt, Boyd delivered the final blow to the side of the man's head, only peripherally aware that the screaming, the obscenities reverberating around the warehouse were falling unchecked from his own mouth, that his eyes were blurring with tears. He realised with a start moments later that he had beaten the younger man unconscious and he held two shaking fingers to his neck, desperately searching for a pulse, relief flooding through his veins as he felt one throb strongly against his digits. With disgust, he shoved Britten into a crumpled heap on the ground and began to move towards the bed, his limbs freezing with shock , his heart stopping in his chest as his eyes became focussed on Grace as she knelt atop the rumpled bedclothes; her deathly pale skin was punctuated by vicious welts of red and purple which accentuated the delicate bones of her face and body, her eyes were haunted hollows, bright with unshed tears, her hands shaking violently as they struggled to re-adjust the nightdress, to regain her modesty. Boyd approached her slowly, desperate to help but conscious of startling her.

"Grace...," he breathed, so softly he was unsure she had heard him until her eyes flickered to his and he felt his heart shatter.

"Boyd?" Her ragged voice was laced with confusion, as if unable to process the reality of his presence in the room, and she blinked rapidly, her eyes searching his face for confirmation, for reassurance.

"It's alright," he whispered quietly, his voice shaking despite his efforts to regain control. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Her gaze flew wildly to the floor, where Robert Britten lay curled into a quivering ball, his arms covering his head protectively, while his older brother's body formed a crumpled mass of blood, of crushed limbs, of bruised flesh. "Boyd...."

"Let me help you," he said, taking a tentative step towards her and standing before the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he placed his hands gently onto her waist, tugging on the silken material gathered there and beginning to drag it downwards across her hips.

Within seconds, she was sobbing uncontrollably, tears cascading down her face, pushing his hands roughly away as her own continued where his had left off, her cheeks inflamed with embarrassment at his act of compassion. "I can...manage," she heaved huskily between sobs, her chest shuddering.

Boyd held up his palms towards her. "Alright," he said gently. "Alright, Grace. But I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? I'm not going _anywhere_...."

"Boyd!"

The eerie quiet in the room was broken suddenly by Spencer's booming voice, and at once the makeshift bedroom was overrun with people, half a dozen uniformed officers rushing to assess the scene, their highly trained eyes absorbing their surroundings, taking in the bloodied man on the floor, the broken woman kneeling on the bed. Spence and Stella were at Boyd's side in an instant.

"Oh, God," Stella breathed softly as she took in Grace's appearance, the grey pallor of the profiler's skin, the dried blood streaking her features.

"We were too late." Spence's voice was strangled as he fought desperately for control, his hand reaching out instinctively towards Grace before he caught himself. "Jesus Christ, Boyd...."

The DSI took a deep breath before addressing them. "Get an ambulance, Spence." His tone was flat, emotionless, the words catching against his throat. "Then arrest Robert Britten for rape and organise an armed guard for the hospital for his brother."

Spence stepped infinitesimally closer towards his boss and steered him away from the women, his eyes flickering to David Britten's prone body on the ground. "Did you do that?"

Boyd looked at him steadily. "Grace was completely traumatised so there were no viable witnesses. Maybe his brother did it to him before I got here. Okay?"

"Boyd...."

"Okay, Spence?"

The DI held his gaze momentarily before giving a small nod of silent support. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm glad we're agreed."

He clapped Spence gratefully on the shoulder then, encouraging him to turn away, to begin the tasks he had been assigned before he moved back towards Grace and Stella, his heart softening as he watched the younger woman drape her own jacket carefully about the profiler's shoulders, Stella's palm rubbing soothing circles across her shivering upper back. The DC's worried eyes met his and she stepped away, into his earshot.

"Sir, she needs to go to hospital. I think she's going into shock."

"Spence is calling an ambulance."

The Frenchwoman looked pained. "Will they need to...? Only she wants to take a shower as soon as she can, she's...."

Boyd barked a humourless laugh and shook his head, his chest contracting painfully. "I saw what he did, Stella. If there's ever a trial, I'd have to be fucking well dead to not go in the box."

"I know, but...the chain of evidence...don't we need to have physical proof of...?"

"I don't care. She's been through enough."

The quiet vehemence in her boss' voice was enough to convince Stella of his determination and she gave a small nod before turning away and walking towards Spence, a final backward glance over her shoulder in the direction of Grace. Boyd rubbed a hand across his face, a headache forming rapidly behind his eyes, and he moved back to the bed, his stomach twisting with guilt as he watched its lone occupant stand shakily from its silken surface, her hands grasping the edges as she struggled to maintain her balance. Boyd took a step towards her but she held up a hand to halt his approach.

"I'm fine, Boyd...."

The DSI shook his head gently, his dark eyes searching the distressed depths of her blue ones as he moved almost imperceptibly closer. "You don't have to do this," he whispered softly, unable to prevent the anguish from crushing his throat, the tears from welling hotly in his eyes.

"I'm fine."

Without taking his eyes from hers, he closed the final gap between them, feeling her palm quiver against his chest, then fall in defeat to her side as he stepped into her body space and enveloped her in his arms, holding her weight as she began to collapse, shaking, silent sobs wracking her entire body as she fought desperately for control. Boyd's hand found the back of her neck, his fingers caressing her skin in gentle motions as his other arm held her firmly to his body about the waist, his lips murmuring comforting words against her hair as he tried with every fibre of his being not to sob his relief, his guilt, his agony into the soft contours of her body.

"I'm so sorry, Grace," he breathed raggedly against her, his words rasping throatily as he willed himself not to spill his soul's complete despair, to unburden his own pain.

"No...need...," she murmured haltingly, her words muffled against his chest as she took another raw breath, the air rattling noisily through her skin, her bones, her lungs.

"Every need," he replied hoarsely, pressing his lips to her hair in a gentle kiss.

"Not your fault," she whispered back, allowing her cheek to rest softly against him, undeniably comforted by his warmth, the presence of his solid body absorbing her pain, her anguish, her humiliation.

"Sir?" Spence's gentle voice broke them from their mutual grief and Boyd turned to face him, whilst continuing to hold Grace flush against his body, her back to the younger man. The DI's hands were gripped firmly about Robert Britten's upper arms, the man's head bowed almost to his chest, his shoulders slumped in a concave curve. "Mr Britten wants to say something before he's taken away."

Boyd blew out an angry breath, instinctively pulling Grace even closer towards him, a desperate need to protect her filling every pore of his body. "I'm not interested."

"Please." Britten's voice was thick, rasping against his vocal chords as he lifted his head slightly though his eyes were still riveted to the floor.

"Get him out of here, Spence...."

"I need to...I want to...apologise...."

Boyd raised his voice as he felt the woman in his arms begin to shake once more. "I'm not going to say it again, DI Jordan."

Spence tugged roughly on the man's arms, forcing him to begin walking towards the door when the prisoner cried out anew, shouting anxiously over his shoulder, his voice a cacophony of desperation. "I'm sorry, Dr Foley! I never meant....He _made_ me do it, he's always made me do it...but I never meant to hurt you, to hurt _anyone_!"

"Spence!" Boyd was yelling now as he turned Grace away from the torrent of words, her whole body trembling against him as Robert Britten continued, his voice strained and haunted, even as the DI steered him roughly to the exit.

"You _have_ to believe me! I can't spend the rest of my life in prison for something I'm not responsible for! Dr Foley, you have to help me, you have to...!"

As Spence shoved the man through and the door slammed loudly behind them, Grace let out an anguished cry, her body contorting with grief, and Boyd felt his heart shatter, his soul rupture_. Oh, Jesus...I don't think there's any way back from this.... _Squeezing his eyes closed, he pulled her ever closer into his embrace.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **So, the penultimate chapter is finally here!I have been absolutely and completely overwhelmed with support for this fic and I am so very grateful to each and every one of you for your lovely comments and for sticking with me – it really has made all the difference in what has been an extremely challenging story to write; you have all kept me going, no doubt about it! So, thank you all – I honestly couldn't have done this without you! Special thanks goes to **shadowsamurai83** for all the work she has put in to beta-ing for me – you have been amazing, hun, and I am forever in your debt! :) x

* * *

_Six weeks later, 8am_

Grace stood beneath the comforting cascade of her shower, letting the warm water gush across her skin, soaking her hair, soothing her muscles. Instinctively, she allowed her fingers to trace the healing wounds which adorned her arms, her thighs, her cheeks, willing away the shame that flooded her instantly, the anxiety that gripped her throat, that pulled at her stomach. She took a shaky breath, reaching out a palm to steady herself against the slippery tiles, and she closed her eyes, an attempt to slow her suddenly pounding heart as she forced her mind away from the painful memories. Her therapist was purportedly pleased with her progress, the increasingly successful reintegration of the splintered fragments of her memory, the gradual confrontation of her fears, her trauma, her anguish. The younger woman had failed to hide her disapproval, however, when Grace had announced her imminent intentions the previous day, sentiments echoed forcefully by her eldest daughter when she had repeated her thoughts to her family....

"_You're not serious."_

_Grace sighed heavily, averting her eyes from the aghast expression lacing her first-born's features. "Why would I not be serious?"_

"_Because you...you were...." Gina Foley exhaled a hot breath, shaking her head incredulously. "For God's sake, Mum, you didn't just break a fingernail, you've suffered a serious, life-changing trauma...!"_

"_I'm aware of that, love. Believe me."_

"_And it's not like this happened when you were walking down the street either, it happened at work! Jesus Christ, __**he**__ was the one who put you in that position and now you're, what? Going right back to him as if nothing ever happened?!"_

_The profiler rubbed a weary hand across her face before replying. "We've been through this, Gina. If I don't hold Boyd responsible, then neither should you."_

"_He should have protected you, he should have...."_

"_It wasn't his fault. I'm not going to say it again."_

_Gina took a breath to speak, desperate to forcefully reiterate her point of view, to express her indignant anger, but she found herself deflating suddenly at the quiet determination emanating in waves from the woman opposite her and she reached out a hand to take her mother's gently, her voice softening as she spoke once more. "I'm just worried about you, Mum. I don't want you doing too much too soon, that's all."_

_Grace gave a slight smile as she squeezed the younger woman's hand, hoping she was projecting an air of reassurance, despite the uncertainty weighing heavily on her chest. "I've got to face the world sooner or later, love. May as well be now."_

....Sighing deeply at the recent memory, Grace stepped from the intoxicating heat of the water, suddenly chilled to the bone and she shivered as she cocooned herself in the softness of her towel, frowning as she caught sight of herself in the mirror; the reflection of a stranger masquerading as herself stared back at her, the pale skin, protruding bones and haunted eyes almost unrecognisable as parts of her own body. _Jesus Christ, I'm a mess_, she thought bitterly. _Am I really doing the right thing?_ Shaking her head vigorously, she forced herself away from the piercing doubts of her reflection and walked into her bedroom, her mind resolutely focussed on the task ahead.

* * *

Stella swore softly beneath her breath as she sat back in her chair, tossing her pen onto the desk in frustration and crossing her arms.

"This can't be it," she said vehemently, her tone one of disbelief, of disappointed incredulity. "It just can't be."

At her side, Spencer sighed heavily, the air rattling noisily through his bones, and he rubbed a hand across his exhausted eyes. "It's everything the SFO and the various Fraud Squads have got."

Eve raised a surprised eyebrow before taking a sip of her tea. "They've been going at it for, what? Nearly seven weeks?"

"I told you Britten was clever."

Stella sighed shakily, drumming her fingertips nervously on the table top. "He's going to go ballistic, you do know that, don't you?"

Spence grimaced. "Well, for once, Stella, I can't blame him. Can you?"

The DC took a breath to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of their boss, his long coat drawn about him, a cardboard coffee cup in his hand. His brow knitted instantly in a frown as he absorbed the facial expressions of the bullpen's occupants. "Blame who for what?"

Spence rose slowly to his feet. "Sir...I think you'd better sit down."

Boyd stepped towards his DI, placing his cup gently onto the nearest table before regarding the younger man steadily, his dark eyes deep pools of intensity. "What's going on, Spence?"

Spencer sighed, reaching across to pick up the thick file that lay on the desk. "The SFO have just biked this over. It's their categorical findings on the David Britten case."

Boyd continued to hold the junior officer in his unwavering gaze, trying desperately to slow the sudden pounding of his heart. "And?"

"And...I'm sorry, Boyd. There's absolutely nothing conclusive, nothing that can definitively tie Britten to any fraudulent dealings, past or present."

The resultant silence in the room was darkly oppressive, Spencer's words falling unchallenged to the floor, Eve allowing her eyes to close, Stella holding her breath in anticipation of the onslaught from her boss. Eventually, Boyd spoke, his voice dangerously quiet, barely a rumble above the stillness.

"So, it was all for nothing, is that what you're telling me?"

Eve leant forward in her seat as Spence shot her a worried glance. "Boyd...."

The DSI waved a hand to silence her. "No, I just want to be clear. Is that what you're telling me, Spence?"

Spencer took a deep, cleansing breath. "It's just one aspect of the case, Boyd. We're still going to get him for conspiracy to rape, no doubt about that."

"But linking him to serious, organised fraud, that was a complete waste of time, a completely pointless exercise?"

"They haven't definitively closed the book on the investigation, there's no reason to think that something might not turn up...."

Boyd let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "You know as well as I do that that's not going to happen. Not this late in the day."

"It just means Britten ran a tight ship. It doesn't mean he didn't get careless somewhere down the line."

The older man shook his head. "Look, whatever we might think of the SFO, Spence, they know how to run an investigation."

"I'm just saying...."

"Well, don't. It's delusional optimism at best, patronising bullshit at worst."

Spence blew out a breath, feeling his hackles beginning to rise. "Don't shoot the messenger, Boyd, alright? I'm just relaying their findings. I thought you'd want to know."

Boyd gave a derisive snort and turned away, stalking back towards his office, desperate not to express the anger that was trickling through his bloodstream. Spence barked his name, their potential interaction interrupted by the insistent ringing of the office phone, which Stella was quick to silence. Momentarily, she looked up towards her boss, her cinnamon eyes flecked with concern.

"Sir, it's Belmarsh. They're asking to speak to you."

The DSI frowned deeply, feeling his blood pressure increase another notch as he stepped towards his young colleague, taking the proffered handset with trepidation before addressing the caller. "Boyd."

He felt his heart plummet suddenly through his stomach as he listened to the words being spoken gently against his ear, his throat constricting as he replied in a thick monotone before hanging up the phone wordlessly some moments later, a red haze descending rapidly across his vision, his body beginning to pulse with rage.

"Boyd?" Eve prompted softly, exchanging worried glances with her colleagues, her eyes dark pools of anxiety as she absorbed his barely concealed frustration, his slightly shaking hands, and she rose from her chair to approach him, even as he began to stride away.

Within seconds, he had slammed his office door violently, ignoring the collective sharp intake of breath from the bullpen as he stormed into his sanctuary, a torrent of expletives tumbling from his lips as he threw himself roughly into his chair, the wooden surface of his desk splintering as he thumped his fist forcefully against it. Momentarily, he felt himself crumple, the breath leaving his lungs in a strangled sob, and he let his head fall into his hands, his eyes closing against the bleakness of his reality. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit_....

A gentle tapping penetrated the cloud of his despair and he rubbed a hand across his eyes before calling out gruffly. "Yeah?"

Eve's dark head appeared around the door frame and she stepped into the office, closing the door wordlessly behind her before taking a seat opposite him, her features knitted into an anxious frown as she took in the tense form of his posture, the darkness firmly settled about his shoulders.

"What is it?" she asked quietly. "What did they say?"

He sighed noisily, allowing the silence between them to elongate before replying. "Robert Britten...committed suicide early this morning. Hung himself in his cell."

The scientist gave a slight nod, swallowing hard. "I see."

"So, Grace gets a life sentence while that bastard gets eternal relief. Where the _fuck _is the justice in that?" He spat the words viciously, unable to prevent them from catching in his throat, the poison from creeping into his tone.

"He obviously couldn't live with what he'd done."

"That's just the point. He should have been _made_ to live with it for the rest of his miserable fucking life."

Eve took a breath, aware that she was heading for uncertain waters. "From what you've said...it was _David_ Britten who was the real force behind it all...,"

"That's a detail, Eve...."

"...That the brother was more of a pawn. That he even tried to apologise to Grace when he was arrested."

Boyd blew out a shaky breath, memories of Grace lying helplessly before him hauntingly clear. "He _brutalised_ her, Eve. He held her down so hard he bruised her and then he...he...." Tears welled suddenly in his eyes and he had to make a concerted effort to force the raw lump in his throat to dissipate.

Eve studiously blinked away her own tears. "I know," she said softly. "I'm just saying that...well, from speaking to Grace....there seemed to be a genuine repentance, that's all, a genuine need to explain everything."

"Or an attempt to unburden himself of his guilt, to lessen his culpability in the eyes of his victim. I've seen it before; they somehow think it'll convince the victim not to testify."

"I don't...."

"Anyway, it's irrelevant. The point is he took the coward's way out and Grace is the one left behind to deal with what he did to her."

Eve regarded him silently for a moment, her mind pondering her next question. "Will you tell her?"

Boyd sighed heavily, running a hand through his silver hair. "Christ, I don't know, Eve. I don't know."

The scientist sighed softly. "Have you been to see her, Boyd?"

The older man looked suddenly pained, his dark eyes streaked with guilt, with anguish, before he blinked, his expressionless mask falling expertly back into place. "She doesn't want to see me," he said flatly, his tone despondent, laced with despair.

Eve felt her chest constrict. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Not that I can blame her."

"Have you _tried_?"

Boyd sighed heavily and closed his eyes, recalling the many occasions when he had dialled the familiar number, had listened to the cheerful ringing before the recorded message had cut in abruptly, Grace's soft voice instructing him to leave his details. "I've left messages…."

"But you haven't physically been to her house?"

He exhaled sharply, suddenly irritated. "What do you want me to say, Eve?"

The scientist looked at him steadily and raised her palms. "Nothing."

"She clearly doesn't want me anywhere near her. And I'm not about to make it worse by pitching up at her house and demanding she sees me, alright?"

"Alright."

"Good. Because I'm pretty bloody sure she doesn't need any more stress in her life just at the moment."

Eve sighed and leant forwards. "Just don't let your guilt, your completely unnecessary guilt, at that…."

Boyd rolled his eyes disparagingly. "Please."

"…Don't let it stop you from reaching out to her."

"I've told you. I'm the last person she wants to be around."

"She's just trying to deal with the trauma, Boyd. It doesn't mean she doesn't need you. Or want you, for that matter."

The barely concealed subtext in the pathologist's words was obvious and Boyd cleared the sudden gruffness in his throat. "I'm a constant reminder of what happened to her."

"But she doesn't hold you responsible, surely you know that?"

"It's irrelevant."

"Why? Because you hold _yourself_ responsible?"

_God, yes. Because I was distracted by…by whatever it was that happened between us the night before, whatever it was I did. I let it distract me and she__'__ll suffer for the rest of her life because of it_..._I can never forgive myself for that_….

At his continuing silence, Eve spoke again. "You've got to get over this, Boyd. How else are you supposed to help her to heal?"

"I don't think I can." His voice was barely a whisper.

"You can and you will. I've got no doubts about that." Eve rose to her feet then and walked purposefully to the door, stopping briefly to glance back over her shoulder, her voice softening at his perpetually depressive posture. "Just think about it, Boyd. Don't let her go through this on her own."

With that, she exited the room and Boyd allowed his eyes to close, his eyelids suddenly heavy, his chest contracting beneath the weight of his grief.

* * *

_4pm_

Grace took a deep breath as she trod the familiar path towards CCHQ, her heels tapping loudly against the silence of the tiled floor, her heart pounding rapidly at her rib cage. The security guards at the front desk had eyed her curiously as she entered the building, even as they had waved her through, and she had deliberately held her head high at their scrutiny, despite the waves of trepidation surging through her chest. _ I can do this_, she thought with determination as she continued to pace through the corridor. _I have to do this...._

With shaking hands, she pushed open the double doors to the bullpen and walked in, her eyes trained firmly ahead as she avoided the closed door to her left, the deathly stillness of her own empty office to her right. Spencer looked up immediately, his handsome features splitting in a smile as he acknowledged her unexpected presence.

"Grace!" he exclaimed, stepping instantly towards her and enveloping her in a gentle hug, his tender embrace filling her with warmth as his lips brushed her cheek softly. "What are you doing here?"

The profiler gave a small shrug as she disentangled herself from his arms, forcing a smile to her lips. "Oh, you know me, Spence. Can't keep away for too long."

"Well, it's great to see you."

"We've missed you," Stella added as she approached, squeezing the older woman's arm, and trying desperately not to frown with concern as she noted Grace's sallow skin, the dull film deadening her eyes.

"So, what's going on, then?" Grace asked brightly, an attempt to assuage the torrent of emotions battling for supremacy in her mind. "What are you working on?"

The junior officers exchanged a glance, Spence taking a breath to speak before being gratefully interrupted by Eve, who tutted loudly as she advanced from the entrance to her lab, her features drawn in a mock stern expression, shaking her head firmly.

"You know, I _specifically_ remember you telling me the doctor had signed you off for eight weeks," the scientist said reproachfully even as she folded her arms about her friend, her hands squeezing the profiler's slender shoulders as she pulled away. "Don't try to deny it, Grace."

Spencer frowned. "Is that true? What are you bloody doing here, then?"

"You've got to listen to your doctor, Grace," Stella said firmly. "They know what they're talking about."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Honestly. You're all as bad as my children."

Spence laid a hand on her shoulder, his touch light, his voice taut as he spoke again. "We're just concerned. What happened to you, it was...it was...."

"I know." Grace caressed his fingers before releasing his hand. "And I'm touched, Spence, I truly am, but you honestly don't need to worry about me. Alright?"

The DI held her gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes scanning hers as her tried to gauge her sincerity. "Alright," he said finally, utterly unconvinced by her platitudes but unsure of how to proceed further. "Just don't do too much, eh?"

"I promise."

"I don't want to be chasing you out of your office at midnight."

"Go on, Spence. Get back to work before Boyd catches you slacking." Eve smiled to encourage the police officers' retreat, lowering her voice as she spoke again once they were firmly out of ear shot, her tone one of tender intensity as she turned back towards the profiler. "How are you really?"

"I'm...." Grace's gaze followed Spence and Stella, ensuring their attention was engaged elsewhere before she closed her eyes briefly, trying to centre herself, pushing away her ever-present demons. "I'm getting there."

"Hmm. You'd probably get there a lot faster if you hadn't forced yourself into work two weeks before you were meant to."

"Don't you start."

"I'm being serious."

The psychologist sighed, suddenly exhausted. "I need to start facing everything, Eve. And that includes...."

"What? Being the one to make the first move?"

Grace's eyes flew to the scientist's, the younger woman's perception startling her, and she inhaled slowly, willing calm to her bloodstream. "I just...I need to be here, that's all."

"What you need is for him to come to you. For God's sake, Grace, he's not a child, he...."

"No, he's not." Boyd's deep baritone interrupted the pathologist mid-flow and Grace felt her heart solidify, her stomach falling unbidden to the floor as she turned slowly to look at him, the reality of her decision to return striking her squarely across the chest as she absorbed the barely hidden anguish in his eyes, the dark shadows beneath them. "Hi," he said softly, the greeting catching in his throat as he squeezed it through his larynx.

"Hi," she replied shakily, unable to tear her eyes from his, her previous firm reassurances about her mental state tumbling forgotten from her mind as a tidal wave of emotion swirled tumultuously through her chest.

Boyd gestured with his hand, silently inviting her into his domain and wordlessly she complied, grateful for Eve's comforting fingers against hers as she stepped away from the bullpen and towards the inevitable.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N: **Firstly, my apologies for taking so long to get this final chapter written! I'm using Christmas and other RL things as an excuse but I'm so pleased to finally be ready to post it – I really hope you enjoy this final installment; you have all kept me going with this fic with all of your positive energy and comments, I am indebted to each of you for your support. None more so than to **shadowsamurai83** for the invaluable help with the beta – this chapter is for you, hun. Thanks for everything x

* * *

Boyd closed the door gently as they stepped into his office, his eyes never leaving Grace as she took a seat on his couch, her hands balled tightly in her lap, her back rigid with tension. He took a deep breath, his concentration focussed on the air flowing through his body before moving to sit beside her, careful to maintain an appropriate distance between them, unsure of the boundaries.

"How are you?" he asked softly, breaking the silence after several moments had passed, regretting it instantly as the banal question tumbled from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, feeling a headache beginning to form in a knot behind them, and he sighed heavily. "Shit, I'm sorry, Grace. What a stupid question."

A ghost of a smile passed across her gaunt features and she swallowed before replying. "It's alright."

"No, it's not."

She sighed, turning slightly to face him. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know. I'm...I'm okay, I'm getting lots of support."

_Just not from me....not that you'd want it....Jesus Christ, how could I have let this happen? _"Well...that's good."

Grace took a deep breath, searching the anguished pools of his eyes before speaking again. "You know why I'm here."

He nodded slowly, dread filling his chest and pulling at his stomach. "You're going to tender your resignation."

She blinked, sighing as she broke her gaze away from him. "I haven't reached a firm decision yet…."

"But it's a strong possibility."

She sighed again, the air tumbling from her body in a heavy rush. "I don't know, Boyd. It's just something I'm considering, alright? I thought you should know."

He raised his palms. "Christ knows I don't want you to go, Grace, but I'd…I'd completely understand."

"I just don't know if I can be in this environment any more…." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"You don't have to explain. Especially not to me."

She half turned to face him. "Boyd…."

"Just let me know when you've decided. Take as much time as you need."

They lapsed into another silence then, Boyd turning over the thoughts in his mind, weighing them individually against his skull as he tried to decide how to phrase them. _God, I hope I'm doing the right thing_.... Momentarily he closed his eyes, running a hand across his forehead as the words began to form on his lips. "Grace...I don't know if I should tell you...."

"Tell me what?" Her eyebrows were knitted together in a frown, her features pinched into a question as dread flickered subtly in her eyes.

He looked at her, wrestling with his decision as he absorbed the fragility in her posture, the dull sheen across her ordinarily vivid blue eyes. He took a deep breath and savoured the slight calming sensation before saying, "Robert Britten...hanged himself in his cell this morning."

Grace felt her mouth fall open, her stomach twisting as she absorbed his words[,] and she swallowed hard, desperately trying to regain a semblance of composure despite the sudden pounding of her heart. "I see."

Boyd frowned, trying to gauge her reaction. "I was livid when the prison called to tell me."

She attempted a smile, though it reached nowhere near her eyes. "You think he got off lightly?"

"Compared to you?" He exhaled noisily. "Yeah, I'd say he got off lightly, Grace. Too fucking lightly."

"He...wrote to me, Boyd. Several times, long letters."

Boyd felt his stomach fall through his body to the floor. "Jesus Christ. Did you read them?"

"Eventually."

"And?"

She sighed softly before continuing. "He was beside himself with guilt, with remorse. He confessed everything, all the women that had gone before, the extent of his own involvement...."

"Do you believe it?"

"I want to believe it. As part of the healing process, I think it's important." She paused briefly, passing her eyes across his face. "Would they be admissible?"

Boyd blew out his breath. "Do they mention the brother?"

"Only briefly. I think Robert was more concerned with absolving himself of his guilt than blaming his brother."

"Then they might not be worth anything in terms of the trial."

"I take it David hasn't changed his plea?"

The DSI shook his head. "I don't know how he expects to get away with it. A jury would find him guilty in about five seconds."

"I don't know about that. Remember that he wasn't the one physically responsible...."

"Grace, my testimony alone should be enough. I saw everything he did."

Their eyes locked for an intense moment and Grace felt her pulse quicken. "And my testimony?" she asked quietly, her voice straining slightly against the tendons of her throat.

"It might not have to come to that. I don't want you facing him in court if you're not...."

"Boyd," she cut him off abruptly. "We both know my evidence is the most compelling."

"I just...."

"I know you're trying to protect me," she said firmly, "But I'll be fine. I want to do everything I can to make sure he goes to prison for the rest of his life."

He sighed, closing his eyes fleetingly. "Grace, the cross examination.... They'll try to say your evidence isn't reliable, that you were too traumatised to remember things correctly."

"I know." She smiled slightly, determination flickering across the depths of her eyes. "I can handle arsey barristers, Boyd. I've been doing it for thirty years."

"I've got no doubts about that. But...seeing David Britten again, having him stare at you whilst you're in the box...." Instinctively he leant towards her, reaching out a hand to caress her arm. "Grace, even for the most experienced witness, that's...."

"A psychological minefield. I know."

"Are you prepared for that?"

She sighed softly and turned towards him, undeniably comforted by the gentle movements of his fingers through the layers of her clothes. "I need to do it, Boyd, alright? Something to do with being able to move on."

He squeezed her arm before withdrawing his hand. "As long as you're sure."

"As I can be."

A smile flickered briefly across his rugged features before they lapsed into silence once more, the quiet conversation from the bullpen trickling into the office in a barely audible flow. Momentarily, Grace made to stand, her palms pressed firmly against her thighs.

"Well...," she said quietly. "I should let you get on...."

"Yeah." He frowned as he watched her rise, frustrated by his inability to voice the questions he was so desperately seeking the answers to, the emotions that were surging uncontrollably in his chest, and he sighed as he stood, walking with her towards the door.

Grace suppressed a gasp as she turned towards him and registered his proximity, her fingers reaching for the door handle as he touched his palm lightly against her shoulder, and she felt her body shiver.

"Grace...." His voice was rough in his throat, her name a husky whisper as he felt his heart constrict.

Grace closed her eyes against the anguish in his tone, her features contracting into a pained frown, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "What?"

"I...I need to know something...."

_Oh, God_...."Boyd...."

"The night before it all happened...."

She let out a strangled sob and tried to turn away, desperate to put some distance between them, to escape the memory to which he was referring, agony twisting her heart and causing her chest to throb. "I don't want to talk about it, Boyd. I _can't_."

He sighed heavily, tightening his grip on her shoulder and placing his other hand in the curve of her waist, turning her gently back towards him, unnerved by her lack of eye contact, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "Grace, whatever it is, whatever I did.... It distracted me so much that I...." He broke off, swallowing the tight ball of emotion pressing relentlessly against his larynx. "...That I failed to spot the danger you were in until it was too late."

"It wasn't your fault...."

"So I _need_ to know, Grace. I have to know what happened."

Grace twisted from his arms, propelling herself across the room, her tense body coiling tightly, her eyes closing firmly as she tried desperately to re-establish control of her mind, the rapid contractions of her heart. "Don't you think," she whispered hoarsely, turning her head to address him over her shoulder, "that I might have enough to deal with just at the moment without you...bringing that up as well?"

Boyd stepped slowly towards her, stopping mere inches from her back, resisting a powerful urge to run his fingers across her shoulders. "God knows I don't want to make things worse, Grace...."

"Then stop asking me."

He groaned in frustration. "Why won't you just tell me?"

"I don't...."

"Did we sleep together?"

Grace half turned to face him, her skin paling with shock as she absorbed his words. "Peter...."

"Well, did we?" He exhaled loudly at her lack of response. "Jesus Christ, Grace, we're _adults_! If we had sex it's hardly the end of the world, is it?"

Her cobalt eyes hardened suddenly, icy tendrils snaking across the expressive orbs. "The fact that you can't remember, Boyd, is half the bloody problem!"

He blinked, the naked pain flashing through her features dissolving his irritation instantly, and he took another small step towards her, dread consuming every pore of his body. "Oh, God, Grace....did I...did I _force_ you...?"

She let out an anguished cry and shook her head emphatically, her breath leaving her body in strangled gasps. "No....No, of course not."

Relief flooded his senses and he ran a shaking hand across his eyes before looking back down at the petite woman before him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I can only remember parts....like I was dreaming but I was...."

"You said her name."

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, the words tumbling in a rush from her lips, that for a second Boyd was sure he had misheard her. "What?"

Grace dropped her gaze from the intensity of his eyes, her heart thumping excruciatingly hard in her chest, her stomach churning sickeningly. She felt her breath catch as his fingers traced the line of her jaw, tipping her chin up to face him, the pad of his thumb mere millimetres from her mouth.

"Grace?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

She swallowed hard, her mind screaming violently at her to say nothing further, to retreat into her protective shell, but she forced the sensation away, the sincere concern in his dark eyes outweighing the remainder of her doubts. "When we were...in bed....you said her name."

His eyes fell closed as the breath left his body, memories flooding his senses, recollections of the sensual velvet of her skin, the intoxicating taste of her lips, the glorious sensation of her arousal against his fingers. _Oh, Jesus, I remember_....

"God....Grace....I was dreaming...."

"I know. Of Sarah."

"No." He let out a small laugh of relief, realisation hitting him squarely in the chest, his hands coming to rest lightly against her delicate shoulders, her attractive features drawn in a confused frown at his obvious levity. "Of you."

Her frown deepened with puzzlement, her cheeks flushing beneath his scrutiny. "But...you...."

"I was dreaming about _you_, Grace, about how much I wanted to...touch you...." His voice was gruff and he broke off, sighing. "Somehow...Sarah got caught up in it, I don't...."

_Oh, my God_.... Grace felt her heart leap in her chest at his words but she attempted a nonchalant shrug. "Naturally. Given that she's your...."

He squeezed her shoulders firmly, shaking his head. "She's not my anything, Grace. Not anymore."

Her eyes flew to his, desperately searching for sincerity. "What?"

"She hasn't been for months."

Grace was silent for a few moments then, her mind struggling to accept the information he was bombarding her with, her blood pulsing rapidly through her veins, the breath escaping her lungs in short bursts. "Boyd...."

"I don't know why I didn't tell you."

She took a deep breath, laying a hand against his chest. "Boyd...."

"I just.... After that night, Grace, nothing seemed to matter....I knew I'd done something to hurt you and I knew it was the reason for my distraction but I couldn't remember what the hell it was."

"And now that you _do_ remember?"

He searched the depths of her eyes, the doubts pervading her expression and he had to will away a sudden, intense urge to kiss her. "Grace, I...I don't want to pressure you."

She sighed shakily, conflicting elements battling for supremacy in her soul. "I don't know if I can do this, Boyd."

He slid his hands gently across the slim lines of her shoulders, across the tender skin of her neck before cupping her face lightly in his palms, his thumbs stroking the softness of her cheeks. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched a myriad of emotions ripple across her face, her eyes closing as her tears spilled over onto his hands.

"We can take it at whatever pace you're comfortable with," he said softly, the deep baritone pervading the air between them in a gentle rumble.

"I'm not sure I can give you what you need," she whispered hoarsely, her chest heaving as she struggled to control the torrent of feeling swirling uncontrollably through her body.

"Grace," he murmured, moving towards her and leaning his forehead delicately against hers, unable to prevent tears from welling in his own eyes and tracking the length of his cheeks, "you've always been what I need."

A loud sob escaped her lips at his words, her chest filling with an overwhelming sensation of relief, of joy, interwoven with the perpetually present ache, the sorrow that lapped at her heart. An instant later, she felt his mouth brush tenderly against hers, the taste of their combined tears filling her senses, her body beginning to shake violently, uncontrollably, as his tongue caressed her own, passing gently across her lower lip as he moved to deepen the kiss, a low groan reverberating through his chest.

Gasping, she pulled sharply away, mortification cascading through every fibre of her being, and she squeezed her eyes closed, an apology forming automatically on her lips. "I'm sorry, Peter...."

"Don't you _dare_," he said softly yet forcefully, his dark eyes burning with intensity as he brought his fingers to her mouth to silence her. "You've got absolutely nothing to apologise for, alright? Absolutely nothing."

"I see their faces....I can still feel their hands on me...."

"Grace...."

"A physical relationship, Boyd....I just don't think I'm ready."

He leant forward to pull her into his embrace, his arms encircling her, his hands tracing soothing circles across her back, his head resting atop hers. "It doesn't matter, Grace...."

"I can't give you a timescale either."

He laughed softly, pulling her closer, feeling her relax fractionally in his arms as she lay her cheek against his chest. "We'll just go at whatever speed suits you, then."

She raised her head to look at him, doubt infusing the intoxicating depths of her eyes. "Are you sure, Peter? Are you absolutely sure about this?"

He kissed her forehead gently before squeezing her back into his arms. "Of nothing else in my life, Grace, but of this…without question."

He felt her smile against him, the tension draining rapidly from her body as he held her in the silence, feeling a cloud of calm, of peace descend in a tranquil wave and settle about their shoulders, a sensation of utter completion, of total fulfilment fluttering warmly through his soul. However challenging the future, he knew in the very depth of his being, the very core of his humanity, that they would ride and conquer the tempest together.

FIN


End file.
